


Poor Boys and Pilgrims

by SirCumference



Series: Scenes from the Multiverse [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Android Lance (Voltron), Barista Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Canon Compliant, Dad Music, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Four happy endings actually, Gay Keith (Voltron), Happy Ending, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is So Done, Klance AU Month 2019, Light Angst, M/M, Merman Lance, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Canon, Quantum Abyss (Voltron), Reality Hopping, Season/Series 06, Sexual Content, Soulmates, Worldbuilding, kinda late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-11-08 17:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 85,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17985728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirCumference/pseuds/SirCumference
Summary: Keith doesn’t believe in fate. He doesn’t believe things happen for a reason, or that there is meaning to be found in every bad thing that’s happened to him. He also doesn’t believe he’ll ever be with Lance. But as he drifts through the abyss on the back of a space whale, he catches glimpses of other realities where he and his friend are inextricably tied despite forces beyond their control promising to tear them apart.Lance is sometimes a telepathic merman, sometimes a patron at a coffee shop, and sometimes an android serving a year-long sentence for pissing the wrong people off. Keith might be a sailor, or a barista, or a professional smuggler struggling to make ends meet. It’s fucking weird, honestly, but so is living in the Quantum Abyss. Keith tries not to let it get to him. It still does, though.  He wonders how he could ever get over someone when he’s forced to watch himself fall in love with them over and over again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Cloud Atlas, but gayer.  
> How the timelines are identified:  
>  _ **1**_ \- Canon universe  
>  _ **2**_ \- 19th century merfolk AU  
>  _ **3**_ \- Modern-day coffee shop AU  
>  _ **4**_ \- Futurist cyberpunk AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: A character experiences discomfort related to gender dysphoria

_**1**_  
Kosmo is wrapped around the pilot’s seat, his head resting on his paws. Keith feels the tickle of his tail against his ankle. It comforts him slightly, but he’s still nervous. It’s not every day you decide to believe in something, after believing in nothing at all for so long. 

He thinks of the tangled web in his head. Of the things he saw in the abyss, and of the unfinished narratives unfurled in front of him. He remembers them, still, after all this time. Not extremely well, mind you, but he remembers the important things. The way they felt — _he_ felt. He felt it all, even though it wasn’t him in his visions. Not exactly.

“Emotional memory” is what Pidge called it. It helps him remember the other things better, the events. He remembers feeling the anticipation, the elation of being in love, the heartbreak when he couldn’t love any more. Four times. And he remembers feeling hopeful at the end, before he and his mother had to go. He doesn’t know what happened after that, to the versions of him out there existing somewhere beyond the bounds of his reality. But he figures that if those other versions of him were hopeful, he’d learn to be hopeful too. 

He looks over at the box next to him, strapped into the co-pilot’s chair. It had taken him way too much effort to actually get a box suited for a bouquet of fragile blue flowers native to some marginal planet on the edge of Cluster B. People don’t usually put bouquets in boxes, but it had to survive the trip. A plain old box would have been fine, but he needed a clear panel that would offer a view of its contents. It would look charming, he thought. He wanted Lance to see what they were right away, so that there would be no room for guessing. 

Kosmo stirs, whining. He nudges under Keith’s pant leg with a wet snout. 

“We’re almost there, boy,” he says, never taking his eyes off the clouds beneath him. _Any minute now._ The anticipation was a little too much. He reaches over to a dial on the dashboard, figuring he might as well drown out the silence with music.

* * *

_**2**_  
The last thing he remembers is gasping for air, before being pulled under by unforgiving, cold darkness. Separated from the air, from breathing, he thrashes. He knows he can swim, knows he’s been thrown overboard before, knows he’s gotten out alive. But this time is different. This time, the current is too strong, the water too dark, his body too heavy, too injured. He thrashes anyway. He wants to breathe, craving oxygen, craving his home and his bed. He believes he _can_ breathe — it’s usually so easy. But when he dares, he feels the cold enter him, swallowing it whole, burning in his chest. He thinks it should hurt more, but the searing lessens until soon, he feels nothing at all. He remembers gasping for air, and nothing else. He’s gone before he can feel two strong, steady hands grip his underarms, pulling him to safety.

 _ **3**_  
“Hey, uh, is that girl in?”

“Who?” the barista is unimpressed, arms crossed. Not exactly peak customer service, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

“You know, Katie? The girl with the glasses and the septum ring?” The customer gesticulates, almost knocking over the tip jar. “I was just wondering, ‘cause I like the way she makes lattes.”

“I can also make lattes.” The barista raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, but, I like the way—” he cuts himself off, brows furrowing, refusing to look at the young man in front of him. “Okay, fine. Sorry. I’ll just take filter. With milk.”

“Seriously?” He’s irritated. “We literally make them the same way.”

“No, ah — it’s fine. I changed my mind.” 

The barista scowls at him, huffing. He punches something in the register.

“You know,” the customer leans in, a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. “For a guy working behind the counter, you don’t seem all that friendly.”

The barista stops, one hand hovering over the screen. He shoots the customer a dark glare. “And?”

“Uh.” He’s perplexed. “And, nothing? Just trying to make conversation.”

“By telling me that I’m not friendly.”

“Uh, fuck, okay, just forget it.” He shuffles wordlessly, shifting from foot to foot until his coffee is plunked down on the counter, slightly aggressively. Grabbing it, he swings his drawstring bag over his shoulder and bolts out of the cafe.

“What did you do?”

“Huh?” The barista turns to a girl behind him, emerging from the door to the back of the shop. She has glasses and a septum ring. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never seen him leave so quickly. He’s like, one of the chattiest people ever, he comes here all the time.” She crosses her arms.

“He was an ass.”

“You sure about that?” She squints at him. “What’d he do?”

The young man pouts. He grabs a rag, walks over to the coffee machine and begins wiping any stray brown drops from its surface. “He wanted you to make his coffee because apparently mine aren’t good enough.”

The girl laughs. “Keith, he was probably too embarrassed to tell you how he likes his lattes. He likes them scalding hot with a mix of oat and regular milk, and he knows it’s kind of weird. And given how you’re acting, I don’t blame him. You would have probably ripped him a new asshole.”

Keith scowls again. “Who the fuck likes their lattes like that? What the hell?”

“Look, just… next time, don’t make him feel like shit, okay? He’s a friend of a friend. I want him to keep coming here, it gets boring when it’s always people I don’t know.” She stares up at him, smirking slightly. “I know you’ve got this whole edgy thing going on but don’t be an asshole, it’s not cute.”

Keith huffs. “Fine. I’ll be nice.” He smirks.

“Alright, that’s a start.” She leans back on the counter. “And you’re not totally wrong… Lance can be kind of a dick sometimes. His mouth runs faster than his brain. But he’s a good dude.”

Keith resumes polishing the coffee machine. “Sure.”

 _ **4**_  
A young man walks into the lobby of a hotel. He doesn’t stop at the desk, doesn’t stop anywhere. It’s almost like he’s been here before. He hasn’t. 

He’s carrying a slim briefcase, wearing fitted trousers, a dark trench coat and a tweed cap. A small crowd of wealthy looking guests and cleaning staff crowd in front of the elevators. He sees an opportunity. Brushing his way through the crowd with practiced ease, he slips out of the trench and swiftly balls it up, tightly. He rounds a corner in the hallway, dropping the trench and cap in a bin that is likely meant for laundry. He doesn’t stop walking. 

He makes his way to the fire escape, brings his wrist up to ping his watch against the sensor, disabling it. He spins, pushing the door open with his back to ensure no one has turned the corner, and enters the stairwell without a sound.

He knows he isn’t being watched here, and knows the security cameras were disabled for him. Here, he removes the loose button down to reveal a thin leather jacket. He takes a detour on the 14th floor, leaving the shirt in another bin, before returning to the stairwell. 

This isn’t the first time he’s scaled 20 storeys. He barely breaks a sweat, having practiced this, trained for this. He runs his hands along the banister, knowing his leather gloves won’t leave a trace. The briefcase remains in his other hand. 

He reaches the rooftop. Each and every patron is a picture of wealth — he tries not to let his gaze linger on the iridescent fabrics, the borderline-ridiculous sun hats, and makes his way to the bar. He doesn’t stand out in his leather jacket, but he doesn’t exactly fit in either. Thankfully, he’s clean and put-together enough to pass for well-to-do. His haircut is odd, no doubt, but there are other eccentrics here. 

He sits on a barstool, briefcase in his lap, leaving one leg on the floor. Just in case. He relaxes, slightly. Getting in is the hard part. Leaving is much easier. 

“Red?” A woman sits next to him, albeit awkwardly. She looks as if she doesn’t know what to do with her legs. 

“Uh,” Red pauses, taking in her features. She’s an android, evidenced by the seams and hinges on her skin. Not the only one at the bar — it’s not an uncommon sight, these days. Mid-length, wavy brown hair. A long black dress. She looks well-assembled, albeit unremarkable. Her eyes glow, emitting a faint turquoise light. He furrows his brow. “Blue?”

“Yeah, super weird, eh?” She shuffles a little in her seat, uncomfortable. “They were out of masc models today and had to make do.”

Red chuckles. “What’s it like?”

“Honestly?” Blue turns, facing him. Their posture is all gangly and stiff, inelegant. “It’s like my center of gravity is way too low. Walking feels so weird — I’m trying to sit as much as possible.”

Red smiles, turning to the bartender. He gestures, holds up two fingers, and turns back to her. “I can’t say it suits you, frankly.”

“Yeah, no shit.’ They laugh. “They said it shouldn’t happen again. I stand out too much like this, when I’m… not exactly comfortable.” They frown, slightly. An untrained eye might not pick up on it, but Blue has been Red’s contact for long enough now that he’s finely tuned in to their expressions. 

“Something wrong?”

“Yeah.” Blue leans in, toward him. “It’s like dudes are always, _watching_ me, you know? I keep thinking they want to fight, or something, but then I realize it’s… it’s something else.” They shake their head. “I’m glad you showed up. That big guy over there, by the wall, he was giving me eyes and I was convinced he was gonna come over here. He stopped paying attention when you came.”

“What, you could definitely take him,” Red smirks, fondly. He reaches over, grabbing the two glasses of whiskey set down in front of him. He slides one over to his contact. 

“I mean, _obviously_. I can take care of myself, Red. That’s not even a question.” They smirk, clinking their glasses together and taking a sip. Their eyes linger on Red's for a brief moment. “I just didn’t want to cause a scene. That’s not exactly what we’re here for, is it?”

“Nope,” Red smiles, looking down at his whiskey. “Speaking of which.” He slides the briefcase into Blue’s lap, swiftly. 

“Thanks.” They furrows their brow, staring at the counter before looking up at their contact. “Hey, Red?” He meets their gaze. They look nervous, flushed, despite being an android. Newer models have complex systems for signaling emotion. It’s a requirement, now, especially for ones piloted remotely by real people — models with a conscience. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He relaxes in his seat, raising the one foot off the ground. He looks at them, expectantly.

Blue purses their lips, looking away. “You don’t have to say yes. I know it’s kinda… out of nowhere, but… You know what? Nevermind. It’s fine.”

“You can tell me anything, Blue, really.” 

They turn to him, sharply. As if they didn’t expect that kind of response. The red of their face deepens. “D-do you…”

“Do I what?” 

“Do you wanna sleep with me? Like… now? Like this?” Blue pauses, horrified. “Aw man, that didn’t come out right.”

“What?” Red’s eyes widen.

“ _WHAT?_ ” A remote voice yells in his ear. “ _Did Blue seriously just do that? What the fuck!_ ”

Red shuts his eyes, lips pressed into a fine line. “Turn off the comm, Pidgeon,” he mutters under his breath.

“ _Fuck no! I wanna know what happens!_ ”

“Pidge. Off.”

“ _Fine. You’re filling me in later._ ” The faint buzzing in his ear goes dead.

He opens his eyes to Blue looking at him, unsure. “Sorry, I forgot you had the whole,” they gesture wildly, “comm thing going on in your ear and whatever.”

“Yeah, she’s gone though.” He half-smiles, before downing the rest of his drink. 

“Forget I asked,” Blue says, looking away. “I don’t wanna make this whole business weird, I just figured, like, it’s just that it’s been a long time since I’ve, y’know, _connected_ with someone and, like, I’m not exactly meeting any new people like this. And I don’t know if you only like women, or men, or anything but you’re the only person…” They’re rambling. Blue does this a lot. It fills up the empty space, makes Red feel comfortable. He’d never complain. 

They take a breath. “I figured if it was gonna be anyone, It’d be you. You know?” They’re looking at him now, still unsure. It’s so endearing, Red feels something stir in his chest.

He sighs, offering Blue a small, barely-there smile. “I’m gay,” he says, after a moment.

“Oh,” Blue’s eyebrows go up. They eye their drink, before taking it and downing it back in one gulp. They clear their throat. “That’s… Wow, okay, I thought you’d like me more like… this. But I guess…” They’re confused. “I’m like, _technically_ a guy.”

“Technically,” Red echoes, the fond smirk back again. He waits a moment. “It’s not a no.”

“Oh?” They swallow. Or he, rather. He swallows. “ _Oh_. Alright.”

“Just not now. I want it to be…”

“To be?” Blue bites his lip, averting his gaze.

“To be good,” he finishes. “I’d want you to feel comfortable. In a body that makes you comfortable.”

“Fair,” Blue says, a little too quickly. He’s playing with the glass in front of him, tilting it side to side.

“Hey.” Red leans forward, a hand resting on his contact’s arm. He searches for Blue’s gaze, meeting it after a moment. “I mean it, really.”

Blue is looking at him. He notices when his eyes flicker down for a brief moment, before pulling themselves back up again. Red tries to focus on just the eyes — the only familiar part. He waits a couple seconds, making sure Blue doesn’t shrink away at being so close to him. They’re pretty close, now. 

He leans in, taking Blue’s lips in his. It’s odd, really, how much synthetic flesh feels normal. But it does feel real, realer than most things he’s felt lately. Blue kisses him back, puts a hand on his cheek. It’s something he’s been wanting a while, and it doesn’t bother Red at all that it’s like this.

 _ **1**_  
Keith finds himself on the ground, eyes squeezed shut. He tries pushing himself up, but his gut twists uncomfortably. A soft, fuzzy presence is at his side in an instant, pushing him upright onto his knees. He grabs onto his wolf’s fur, steadying himself. 

That last flare was the worst one yet. Keith felt as if he were getting better at handling them. There hadn’t even been one in a few days — which was rare, admittedly, but he was enjoying the break. The flares had started triggering memories from his past that he had already seen before. He figured that was it, that they had run out of material or something. The short break was a relief, honestly. He didn’t need to keep feeling the same things he felt when he lost his dad, when he lost Shiro, when he lost himself, for a time. It felt like picking at a wound that was nearly healed over. Just barely, but enough to open up all over again.

But this time, things were… different. It was honestly so fucking weird, Keith is struggling to wrap his head around it. He saw other people this time, and things that had never happened to him in his life. Except that it looked as if it were him, sounded like him. He felt it, too. Felt his surrogates’ thoughts and feelings. Almost as if he were living it, but from an odd, third-person point of view. 

He had watched himself _drown_. Like, fully drown. The kind where you don’t wake up again. And even though he sort of saw himself get rescued, he had no idea what any of it meant, or where it came from. He also saw himself kiss a woman, which was also weird in its own way. But they also weren’t a woman though… apparently? And he saw himself piss off Lance at a coffee shop, which was probably the most believable thing that happened. The only thing that didn’t mess him up. He held onto that part, and how ordinary it felt, allowing the familiarity to comfort him. 

Knowing alternate realities were a _thing_ , having literally visited one, he had no doubt that was what he had seen. Sure, it seemed literally insane. But he was also living on a planet-sized whale in a part of space that apparently defied every concrete law of physics. He was feeling pretty open-minded right about now. His life wasn’t exactly “normal” in the slightest. 

He stands up, shaky. His wolf whines, supporting him by leaning into Keith’s side. He opens his eyes, finally, and looks at his wolf. He meets his gaze, his little wolf brow furrowing with concern. 

“I’m fine, boy.” Keith offers the animal a wary smile. He doesn’t feel fine, really. He's got a lot of questions, ones he’s not sure he wants the answer to. He can't shake the memory of drowning in the dark, freezing sea. Nor can he really ignore the nagging feeling that the android he had seen reminded him an awful lot of someone he knows well. “Let’s go back to camp.”

Krolia had seen things too. It’s written all over her face when Keith and his wolf return. She offers him a tense, unreadable expression — one that became familiar to Keith over time, over the year and a half they spent together. He had thought it meant she was guarded, that she didn’t want to open up to him. But he had come to realize that it was just what her face did when she was concerned — for them, for him. 

“Did it happen to you too?” he says, sitting down by the fire and offering her the corpse of some kind of rodent he had hunted not long before the flare. 

“Yes,” she answers. Her gaze drags toward Keith’s kill. She unsheaths her knife and skins it, taking it apart and throwing any extra bits at their animal companion, who gnaws on them happily. Keith stares at the fire, trying not to think about how it felt to kiss Blue. It’s been a while since he’s kissed someone. A shorter while since he had been around someone he wanted to. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” His mother looks at him, her voice steady and trusting. Sometimes they talk about what they see, sometimes they don’t. He knows he has the option of keeping quiet, and knowing that he has that option is what makes him speak.

“I saw myself drown. I felt it too.” He twitches. “I think I was rescued though, but I didn’t get a good look.”

Krolia nods her head. She’s not insensitive, she just doesn’t have the same words that humans do when it comes to communicating understanding and comfort. Keith came to realize this after some time, and it doesn’t bother him anymore. Asking and listening are more his mother’s speed than offering up wise words and sage advice. 

“I saw myself working in a coffee shop. Lance was there, and Pidge. That one was okay, it almost felt normal.” He smiles slightly. He may have spent a year alone in the desert, but the past year and a half felt lonelier, despite having his mother and wolf for company. He misses his friends. It was good to see them, even if it wasn’t really them.

“You’ll see them again.” His mother smiles back at him. Her smiles are nearly imperceptible, but some say the same thing about Keith’s. They have that in common.

“Yeah.” His smile falters. Neither of them are sure how much time will have passed since their absence. Krolia said, once, that time runs quicker in the abyss than in the rest of space. Keith isn’t worried about his friends changing in his absence — but he worries about himself, and what they will think of him. 

“And the third one?” She’s skewering chunks of meat onto a smoothed, thin branch. Her eyes are focused on the task at hand, and Keith doesn’t feel pressure to answer right away. He thinks about how the third one was the strangest, despite nearly dying in the first. He can’t help the nagging feeling that he knows the person inside Blue’s head. _It’s only wishful thinking_ , he tells himself.

“I broke into a hotel, or something. I was delivering a briefcase to a contact at the rooftop bar. They were an android. It was… There was a lot going on.” He pauses, mulling over that last vision. “Pidge was there too. She could speak to me through a comm link in my ear.” 

“Interesting.” She hands him a branch, and they take to grilling the meat over the open flame. “It seems the green paladin and yourself have found one another in other realities.”

“Yeah. We were friends, too. In both.”

“And the blue paladin, as well. Even if it was only in one.”

Keith looks at her. There isn’t a sign on her face that betrays her thoughts, though he knows what she must be thinking. She’s heard the way he talks about Lance, seen him in his visions of the past back on the castle ship. She’s never asked questions, probably assuming that if Keith wanted to talk about it, he would. She didn’t ask when they saw the two of them in Keith’s room, when Lance offered to leave the team and Keith made him reconsider. She didn’t ask, either, when they watched him stare at his former teammate across a crowd, distributing supplies to war refugees. She saw her son watch him long enough for it to be suspect, before Keith activated his mask and retreated. When he was in tears, afterward, she only held him close, promising that they would see one another again. 

He doesn’t say anything. He only watches the meat sizzle in front of him, feeling his stomach rumble in anticipation. 

_**2**_  
He feels sand between his fingers, the smooth push and pull of water at his bare feet. He must be on a beach, by the surf. Breathing is… surprisingly easy, given how his last memory is of losing himself to the sea. He stirs, knowing that once he opens his eyes, he’ll be met with brightness from the warm sun above him. The storm must be over, then. 

He opens one eye, hesitantly, before shutting it again as it stings. He scrunches up his face and tries again, this time rolling to his side and focusing his gaze on the ground. 

He sees light sand, and a beach once he raises his eyes further. He pushes his upper body upward with one arm, his other hand pushing his hair out of his face. The sea stretches out before him, calm and bright now. 

His eyes trail along the horizon until he looks to his other side, opposite where he had first opened his eyes. He stops, abruptly, on a person lying on their front, body propped up by their elbows. But before he can look at their features, he’s distracted by the large, deep blue fish tail present where one would expect legs to be. 

He gulps, slight panic mounting in his chest as he lets himself look back at the more… human part of this person. They’re tanned, toned, and their brown hair is about chin-length, slicked back from being wet. They’re looking at him. Right into his eyes. With a mix of intrigue and confusion, it seems. Their eyes match the colour of the tail.

“Hi,” he says, though he’s not sure why he says it. Maybe because this merperson is most likely the reason he’s still breathing. 

_Hi_ , he hears, spoken to him in his own head. They raise their eyebrows and blink at him. It’s their voice, he quickly realizes. This is how they talk. 

He swallows, furrowing his brow. “Did you save me?”

_Yes._

“Thank you.” He pauses, wondering what exactly one is supposed to say in this type of situation. “I’m Keith. That’s my name.” he adds, after a moment.

His new companion smiles, hesitantly. 

_Good morning, Keith. My name is Lance._

And as he watches, from his strange, third person vantage point, the other Keith sinks to his knees and buries his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you can't decide between a merfolk au, a coffee shop au, and a cyberpunk au, make it all of them at once.
> 
> The title of this work comes from "Graceland" by Paul Simon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And the other? Did you see the green and blue paladins again?”
> 
> “I did. It was similar to the last time, at the cafe.” 
> 
> “That’s good. I’m glad you get to see them.”
> 
> Keith frowns. He’s not exactly sure how he feels about seeing them. The first time had been nice. But it’s becoming a regular thing, he’s sure of it. And he’s not entirely sure what to make of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided it was too hard to write about sex vaguely, so I changed the rating. Apologies! It's quite short and wouldn't quality as smut. If you don't want to read the sex, skip to the end of the hostel scene after their conversation ends.
> 
> Note about character ages:  
> \- Keith is 21 in the canon universe  
> \- He's about the same in the mermaid au  
> \- He's around 23ish in the cafe au, pidge is 20  
> \- He's around 25 in the cyberpunk au  
> \- Lance is about the same age as him in each, except canon where he's younger due to the whole Quantum Abyss ordeal

**_2_**  
He’s stranded, essentially. Stranded out in the middle of the sea, with only a strangely devoted merperson for company. He knows Shiro is probably looking for him — they were like that, the two of them. They had saved one another more times than they could count, and Keith was sure that this time would be no exception. He knew the general area they were in before he went under, and there aren’t all that many islands around. It would probably only be a matter of time before his captain and mentor would pull up at the right one. Still, he’s not sure how long he would be here, and how long his… new companion would stay here with him.

“Don’t you have, like, things to do? Or places to be?” He asks the merperson — Lance, that was his name — on his second afternoon on the island. Keith is piling some kindling and firewood together as close as he can to the water’s edge without risking contact. Lance, meanwhile, had been waffling between simply watching Keith move around, intently, and playfully fishing in the water, only to throw his catches back once they were in his grasp. He wouldn’t throw them back during mealtimes, however. In fact, Keith hadn’t needed to fish for himself at all over the past day and a half — Lance had taken care of that for the both of them. Right now, he’s lying on his back at the water’s edge, watching Keith work. His tail is lazily flapping in the shallow water.

 _No._ Keith hears in his head. He looks at Lance, who shrugs halfheartedly. Alright, then.

“Why are you staying with me?” Keith is a little bit wary. He’s heard stories about merpeople drawing sailors off course, towards their deaths. He thinks those are sirens, though, a different species. He’s not sure what exactly Lance is.

 _Making sure you are good and safe. Almost died._ The voice in his head is matter-of-fact, as if Keith had asked him to explain the obvious. Lance tilts his head to the side. _You think I will hurt you?_

“Maybe?” Keith furrows his brow. He pauses, taking a break from building the fire pit. “I’ve heard stories about sirens drawing sailors to their deaths.”

He hears a gasp, and Lance’s face twists up in offense. The merperson rolls onto his front, sitting up and crossing his arms. _Am NOT a siren. We are not the same, just because we both live in water._

Keith tenses, having obviously struck a nerve. He can barely hold a proper conversation with a regular human without things getting awkward, much less some sort of hybrid creature he’s only known for a day and a half. To be honest, Keith isn’t used to company. Sure, being a part of Shiro’s crew had given him purpose, given him a mentor figure and allowed him to fulfill his lifelong dream of sailing the open sea. But he often kept to himself when he wasn’t with Shiro, and didn’t make much of an effort to bond with the rest of the crew. He didn’t feel the need to, really. They were much more social and boisterous than he, and they liked drinking. A lot. Which was something he could never really get into. He liked having his wits about him — liked being in control of himself. Drinking only made it easier for the walls he put up to crash down, and more often than not, he’d find himself revisiting painful memories that he had kept locked up for a long time. 

“Okay, uh, I’m sorry.” He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing his arm and looking away. 

_I save you and you call me ‘siren.’ The nerve._ Lance huffs, shaking his head. 

“Look, I don’t really know much about all of… this.” Keith looks at his feet, his mouth pressed in a fine line. They’re silent, for a moment.

 _Will explain, if you want._ Keith looks up. His companion’s arms are still crossed, but his expression is more curious now. _I tell you about me. You tell me about you._

Keith arches one eyebrow, staring at Lance inquisitively. To be honest, he doesn’t like telling anyone about himself. But Lance seems oddly sincere, as if he’s quite keen on knowing more about him. And admittedly, Keith is definitely curious about Lance. Stories about merpeople were often relegated to the status of myth and legend, even though it was common to hear them in sailing circles. Not many people had firsthand accounts of cross-species contact, and most stories ended in death. Keith’s story, however, began with death. And now he was alive — thanks to Lance. That must mean something.

“Alright,” is all Keith says before sitting down on the ground, cross legged. “How did you save me?”

 _Saw you drown and took you to shore. Took water out of your lungs,_ Lance replies as if that makes perfect sense. He’s lying on his front now, propped up on his elbows. His head is resting in his hands.

“How did you do that?” Keith asks, confused.

Lance rolls his eyes. _Boring questions._

“Hey!” Keith pouts. “I’m just trying to understand!” Lance’s eyes widen in surprise. 

_Merrow can use water to heal. Or move it away, just like what I did for you. First thing we learn how to do. Very useful._ Lance’s voice is matter of fact. He furrows his brow. _Sorry I made you mad._

“It’s okay, I wasn’t mad. Just…” Keith searches for his words. “Just confused.”

 _Okay. Good._

“So… merrow? That’s what you are?”

 _Yes. Not siren._ Lance shivers in disgust. _They are terrible. Assholes._

Keith, to his surprise, stares at Lance for two seconds before bursting into laughter. And Lance follows, in his own silent way. Afterward they kind of look at one another, and Lance offers him a wary smile, his eyebrows downturned as if he’s not entirely sure Keith would appreciate it. But he does, he does like it. And Keith finds himself supposing that having some company for the next little while might not be all that bad.

**_3_ **  
_“Born at the instant_  
_The church bells chime_  
_And the whole world whispering_  
_Born at the right time_ ” 

“Keith, did you put on Paul Simon _again_?” 

He turns, meeting Katie’s angry glare a full half of a head beneath him. “We literally listened to him for three hours this morning.”

“I like it,” is all Keith says, before turning back to the coffee machine. He detaches a portafilter, wipes it, and sets it beneath the grinder, filling it up. 

“I know you like it, but not everyone has the same appreciation for the 70s!”

“Hey,” Keith says, deadpan. He tamps the dose and slides the filter back into its spot, before swiftly grabbing a glass from the top of the machine and setting it down underneath. “It reminds me of my dad.”

“Keith…” Katie squints at him. “Are you seriously trying to _guilt_ me into letting you play Paul Simon again? That’s pretty low.”

Keith smirks turning toward her and leaning an elbow on the handle of a portafilter. “Bet you can’t come up with a better reason to play whatever weird Japanese electronica I know you want to put on.”

“It’s not Japanese electronica!” She adjusts her glasses. “It’s Japanese electro funk!”

“Still weird.” Keith is watching the espresso pour into the glass, making sure it’s running smoothly. “We get more compliments when I play my music.”

“Ugh.” Katie raises her arms in defeat, turning back to the cash upon hearing the chime on the front door. Keith smiles to himself, picking up the glass of espresso and handing it over to a waiting customer, who had likely been listening to their entire conversation. She shoots him an amused smile before heading to her seat. 

“Hey, Keith?” He whips his head back to Katie, who’s serving… _that guy_. 

“Can you make Lance’s weird latte?”

“HEY!” Lance turns beet red, horrified.

“Relax, I told Keith about how you like it so he wouldn’t hate you for not trusting him to make it.” 

Lance turns, sheepishly, toward him. Keith raises an eyebrow. “Extra hot and half oat milk?”

“Yeah.” Lance looks at him like he’s anticipating a slap on the wrist. 

“Cool. To go, or for here?”

“Here.” Keith nods, and turns toward the machine to begin. He notices Lance settle up with Katie in the corner of his eye while he prepares the shot and mixes the two milks together in one pitcher. When he steams it, he takes extra care not to burn his hands. He allows the song playing from overhead to set his pace, coordinating his movements with the rhythm and lyrics.

“ _Well I'm accustomed to a smooth ride,_ ”

He swirls the pitcher, examining the milk’s texture. He cringes at how the added heat fucked it up slightly. 

“ _Or maybe I'm a dog who's lost its bite,_ ”

He picks up the glass with the finished shot inside, and carefully pours the milk into the coffee, topping off the glass with a delicate tulip design. Well, as delicate as it can be when your milk is fucking burnt.

“ _I don't expect to be treated like a fool no more_ ,”

 _Damn_. He’s proud of that one, regardless. He makes a mental note to try more tulips.

“ _I don’t expect to sleep through the night,_ ”

“Your music?” 

Keith raises his head. Lance is standing in front of the coffee corner, next to the machine. He looks a tad apprehensive. 

“Yeah.” He sets the coffee down on the counter. Lance touches it, before jerking his hand back.

“Ow, it’s hot.”

“You literally asked for it.” Keith furrows his brow. _What the actual hell._

“Yeah, I…” Lance stares at the coffee in the hot glass, his face contorted in mild confusion. “I definitely didn’t think this through.” The corner of his mouth tugs upward, and he lets out a small chuckle. Keith almost finds it… endearing. 

He lets out his own short, breathy laugh. “Guess not.”

Lance looks up at him, an amused grin on his face. “How did you even hold onto it?”

Keith shrugs. “Damaged nerve endings from holding too many hot things.”

“Fair.”

“I can give you a tray to carry it.”

“Yeah, thanks man.”

He bends down slightly, sliding a round tray from below the counter. 

“ _We had a lot of fun_  
_We had a lot of money_  
_We had a little son and we thought we'd call him Sonny_ ”

When he looks back at Lance, he’s nodding slightly.

“Who is it?”

“Paul Simon.”

“Oh, cool. I’m not too familiar with his solo stuff, but I’ve played some older Simon & Garfunkel.”

“... Played?”

“I play guitar.” Lance grins, doing a shit job of concealing his pride. “Not that well, mind you, but my niece wanted to learn how and my brother couldn’t really afford lessons, so… I kinda offered to teach her? And myself, in the process.” He rubs the back of his neck, mouth twisted in a fond smile. “I’m not that good. At this point she’s kind of the one teaching me. But y’know, kids. They’re quick learners.”

“Oh,” Keith is taken aback. He was fully ready to accept that Lance was _that_ asshole that breaks out guitars at parties to impress girls. He has no idea why he thought this. Maybe _he’s_ the asshole. 

He doesn’t know exactly what to do with this small nugget of information about Lance’s family life. But the image of him and his young niece collaborating over learning a Simon & Garfunkel song triggers a very, _very_ odd feeling of warmth in Keith’s chest. It’s a really fucking sweet image, honestly. Keith never had that, growing up. 

“If you want —” Keith isn’t entire sure what comes over him. He’s not exactly a friendly guy, and doesn’t usually make the first move. But maybe he was unfair, that first time he served Lance a few days prior. Maybe it wasn’t right to get all defensive right off the bat. 

“— I could recommend some. His songs aren’t that complicated, probably easy enough to learn.”

“Oh,” It’s Lance’s turn to be surprised. Keith mildly regrets giving him the impression that he’s not the kind of guy to offer up friendly song suggestions. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

“Cool.”

Keith spins on his heel abruptly, walking toward the register. He weaves around Katie and rips some unused paper from the bill printer. He grabs a pen, and scrawls a few album names down, as well as several song suggestions. 

“ _Some people say the sky is just the sky_  
_But I say_  
_Why deny the obvious child?_  
_Why deny the obvious child?”_

Lance had followed him to the register, and takes the paper when Keith hands it to him. He looks at it, squinting slightly. _He probably wears glasses_ , Keith thinks. _That’d be hot._

_Wait._

_What the hell?_

“Hey, thanks, man! I’ll let you know how it goes.” Lance waves at him, hand still holding the paper. He grins over his shoulder as he walks back to his seat and sits down. 

“One,” Keith hears behind him. He turns around to see Katie observing Lance, a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Two… Three,”

“Ah, shit,” Keith hears Lance mutter. He watches him get up from his seat, lightly jogging back to where his coffee remained abandoned on the counter. He shoots them an embarrassed look.

“Forgot my coffee. Uh, bye.”

“Bye, buddy.” Katie looks at Keith now, the same expression on her face.

 _What?_ Keith mouths at her. 

She shrugs, and cocks an eyebrow up.

 _Shut the fuck up_ , he mouths again, warmth rising in his cheeks. When he returns behind the coffee machine, he chances a final look at Lance, now perched over a textbook. And sure enough, he’s wearing a tasteful pair of wire frame glasses.

_Well._

_Damn._

**_1_**  
Keith finds himself on the ground, on his hands and knees. This time, things are a tad steadier. He doesn't feel as though the ground were completely ripped from underneath him. Only as if he were… knocked over. By a moderately strong wave.

His mother is with him, this time. They had been training, keeping their skills sharp though they hadn't been in a fight in a while. There were still dangers, here. The whale's back wasn't entirely void of hostile creatures. 

“I am sorry you had to see that.” Krolia says, sitting up and reaching for her spear. Her brow is tensed in thought, and she doesn't quite look at Keith. That's odd. He didn't remember seeing anything remotely disturbing.

“I don't think we saw the same thing. It's okay.” Keith sighs, shifting to sit down, cross legged. He rubs his knees, sore from when he had fallen down, surely. He looks up, and his mother is still lost in thought. Whatever it was that she saw, it seemed to have left a mark. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offers. It's usually her asking him. 

She looks at him, no doubt trying to gauge whether he can take it. He doesn't like when she does this. It comes from a place of guilt, for leaving him and his father behind. Sometimes she acts protective of him, despite the fact that his life had never been easy. It’s as if she’s making up for lost time. 

“Tell me. I'm not a kid.” There's a sour note in his voice. He feels a little bad about it. 

“I was very sick. Your father too, he was dying. We had to send you away.”

“Oh.” Keith gets up. He definitely feels bad, now. Krolia takes the hand Keith offers her, and rises to her feet. “What about the other one?”

“It was not so bad.” Her expression softens. “We were a family. We were together on Earth, in a very large city. We didn’t have much, but we were together. We were eating dinner” 

“Good,” Keith says, as if this knowledge matters. As if it makes a difference. He wants her to feel better, but he doesn’t exactly feel comforted by the idea that there are different versions of themselves that are happy somewhere. It doesn’t change what has already happened, and he doesn’t think it would be a good idea to get too invested in the lives of his alternate reality counterparts. He has his own life to live, and his own issues to deal with.

Still, he can’t help but feel for them. He’s not sure if it’s empathy, from relating to the other versions of himself and his friends. Or if it’s a desire to live vicariously, if only for a moment. Either way, it can’t be a good idea. 

“What about you?” His mother steadies herself, a hand on his shoulder. He knows she’s not demanding a response, not like he was moments before. But his visions were nice. She might like to hear something good, for a change.

“I didn’t die, after I drowned. I was saved by — ” He doesn’t exactly want to admit it to his mother. He doesn’t want to risk reading too far into it. “By a sea creature. I was waiting on an island, for Shiro to find me. He was my captain, apparently.” 

Krolia smiles. “Sounds familiar.”

“It does.” Keith smiles back. He can’t exactly help it.

“And the other? Did you see the green and blue paladins again?”

“I did. It was similar to the last time, at the cafe.” 

“That’s good. I’m glad you get to see them.”

Keith frowns. He’s not exactly sure how he feels about seeing them. The first time had been nice. But it’s becoming a regular thing, he’s sure of it. And he’s not entirely sure what to make of that.

He makes his way over to his luxite blade, picking it up and wiping it on his thigh. 

“Keith —”

“It’s fine, mom. Let’s go back to camp.”

. . .

The fire is almost out, and his mother and wolf are asleep. Keith is lying on his side, staring at the dimming flames and trying not to think about Lance. He does this every night. 

One time, he succeeded. He didn’t think about Lance at all for an entire day. He hunted a little bit, trained with Krolia, rebuilt the fire pit, experienced a strange vision of his mother’s from when she was a child, cooked dinner, and went to bed. The next morning, when he realized he hadn’t given his friend even a moment of thought, he was terrified. He wasn’t exactly sure why. 

So, now he tries not to think about him. It’s better than forgetting. It’s almost like thinking about him, but without the part where he indulges too hard and lets his mind wander too far. If he’s not careful, he ends up thinking about Voltron, and about how good it felt to be part of a team. And how even though he had lost Shiro, for a time, it had felt good to have Lance as his right hand. And how when they were together, his face would sometimes hurt. He wasn’t used to smiling so much, but Lance’s was contagious. And sometimes, after training sessions, Lance would peel off the top of his flight suit, letting it hang at his hips because he was too hot to wait until he was in his room. And Keith was always glad Lance was so oblivious, because he could never not look. And —

_Dammit._

Keith rolls over, facing the dark of the cave wall. Enough trying not to think, he decides. He shuts his eyes, trying to clear his head. Except— 

_Great._ Now he’s hard. 

He groans, rising from his makeshift bed and quietly tiptoes out of their little alcove, looking for a quiet spot to take care of things before he can sleep for real. But before he can get settled, he notices a faint flash of light in the distance, growing larger each passing moment. And in an instant, the ground disappears beneath him, and he feels himself tumbling through the void. 

**_4_**  
He’s walking down a busy street, lined with patchwork buildings and neon signs. It’s wet, dark, and a little cold. But it doesn’t seem to deter the passers by. It’s nighttime, and it’s the weekend. 

Red’s wearing a navy blue zip up with a thick, hot pink band across the chest. It’s just garrish enough to detract from the heavy black leather fanny pack peeking out from underneath its hem. The jacket is meant to detract from his face, which is further obscured by reflective ski goggles. They’re actually quite convenient in the rain. Even though he looks like a fucking idiot. 

Red steals most of the weird shit he wears. He plucked the ski goggles out of some rich guy’s suitcase at that fancy hotel on his way out. His own wardrobe consists of a leather jacket, a single pair of well-worn black jeans, a pair of thin trousers for “fancier” jobs, and a rotation of four shirts that go from charcoal black to dusty black. He doesn’t know why they called him “Red.” Black told him it was because “Black” was already taken. It’s not, anymore. Not since he went missing. _He would have fucking hated my outfit,_ Red thinks. He smiles. 

He stops outside Chora’s Den, a shithole whose front entrance is in a soggy, urine-soaked alley. He makes a mental note not to forget to take his shoes off later. 

_Later._ He inhales, collecting his thoughts. He still hasn’t set foot in the alley. 

“ _Nervous, Red?_ ” Pigeon asks, through the comm link. 

“A little,” he replies, keeping his voice low. There’s no use lying to her. She has access to a live feed on his vitals, notified of every change via a chip in the crook between his bicep and tricep. When he lies, she knows. He thanks his lucky stars that their bosses only care about whether the jobs are completed, and not about what he and his contacts talk about or do with one another as they work. 

“ _You’ll do great. Blue really likes you._ ”

“Yeah.” He’s still not moving. “Where’s the room, again?” 

“ _A block and a half over, the small hostel called The Ritz. _”__

Red snickers. “I hope it lives up to its name." 

“ _It definitely won’t._ ” He hears Pidgeon chuckle. “ _It’s the least terrible one around here, though. The private rooms are a little extra but after this job, I didn’t think you’d mind._ ” 

“I don’t.” Red leans against the wall of the building, smiling to himself in its shadow. Once the job is over and Blue drops off the goods, his credits will be wired to him instantaneously. They have androids drop off the packages because their clients are… unsavoury folk, more often than not. It’s safer, this way. 

" _It’s half on me, Red. I owe you a birthday present._ " 

He smiles wider. She didn’t have to. “I appreciate it, Pidge." 

“ _Hey, least I could do. I’m rooting for you. I’m also excited about tonight._ ”

“Don’t get too excited. And no listening.” He pushes himself off the wall.

“ _Trust me, I have much better things to listen to than your robot sex noises_.”

“Blue’s not a robot, he’s an android.”

“ _I know, but he’s still made of nuts and bolts. Which, you gotta tell me about later. I’m _curious_ about how it all works, ya know?_”

“You’re a freak.”

“ _Yeah, yeah. Now go see Blue, he’s been waiting a while._ ”

Red heads to the door, acknowledging the bouncer on his way in. He weaves down a narrow, dark staircase and lifts his goggles up to his forehead, fussing with his bangs in the process. 

The room is lit faintly, thanks to some blue and pink neon lights snaking around its perimeter. Some terrible synthesized rock music is playing over broken speakers. The air is thick with body heat, even though it’s not entirely packed. 

Blue’s waiting at the bar, head resting in his hand. Red sees the eyes before everything else. When he gets closer, he takes in tonight’s body — that of a caucasian man with salt and pepper hair. 

“Red?” Blue’s looking at him now, a tentative smile on his face. He stands up, semi-stiffly. Good to know he’s not the only one who’s nervous.

“Blue.” He smiles. In one swift motion, he unclips the fanny pack and reaches his arms around Blue, just below his waist. He clips the pack in place as he hugs his contact, shifting the strap and the pack upward slightly so it gets hidden under Blue’s jacket. “Good to see you,” Red breathes in his ear.

“Likewise.” He feels strong, hard arms squeeze him around his upper back. “I wanna get this over with so we can…” he clears his throat. “Y’know. Get out of here.” 

“Okay.” Red sits at the bar and orders a shot to bide his time, calm his nerves. He watches Blue walk down a hallway and pass through a curtain. 

“ _I’m going silent, Red. But I’m still tracking your location. No dying on me today._ ”

“You got it.” He downs the shot, and sees Blue emerge from the curtain. When he gets to red, he offers his hand, smiling. Red smiles back. 

They make their way over to the hostel in relative silence. It’s odd, for them. Red usually finds it incredibly easy to talk to Blue, who often does most of the work. He faintly wonders if Blue’s really okay with this, if he’s really comfortable. But they’re still holding hands, and sometimes Blue will squeeze his a little harder. That’s gotta count for something. 

Blue insists on removing their shoes outside the room. “‘Cause of the piss,” is all he says. Red is grateful for the reminder. He had forgotten.

They don’t bother turning the lights on. There’s enough light coming in from the street to be able to see one another. Blue sits on the bed, hands planted on either side of him. He looks around the room, as if checking for something.

“What’s up?” Red offers.

“Mirrors.” Blue squints, scanning the walls. He points to a long, rectangular one in the far corner. “Do you… do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Red says, hastily. He gets it. Once the mirror is taken down and leaned face against the wall, he takes a seat next to Blue on the bed. He had taken the jacket off at the door, and the ski goggles too. He’s feeling more like himself, and he’s hoping that Blue does too. 

“So,” Blue chances a smile at him. “Robot sex?” And Red just about loses it right there. The tension leaves them both in the form of hysterical, uninhibited laughter, and red wonders why he was nervous in the first place. 

“You’re — ah, you’re a fuckin’ — _dumbass_ ,” Red manages, wheezing. Somewhere in the middle of their little interlude, his forehead wound up pressed against Blue’s shoulder. A hand rests on his head, fingers carding through his hair. He buries his face further in the crook of Blue’s neck, intrigued at the feel of the skin he knows is made of rubber, at the fact that it’s the same temperature as the room. He breathes into him anyway, smiles against his synthetic skin, knowing Blue can feel it. 

“You sure you’re good?” Red asks finally, reluctantly pulling back to look him in the eye. He’s got an arm around Blue’s waist now, and offers him a comforting squeeze. 

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not perfect,” Blue smiles at him, his gaze soft. “But it’s okay. I feel good.”

“What’s not perfect?” 

“It’s just… I wish I were just me. But it’s okay, it is what it is.”

“You can talk to me, Blue.”

Blue sighs. ““Honestly? I wish I wasn’t a white guy right now.” He chuckles. “This is kind of a… big _moment_ and for some reason that’s what’s bothering me. Maybe it’s dumb but I wanna see hands that look like my own on you, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” Red’s surprised. He had assumed — he had assumed wrong. “It’s not dumb. What… what do you look like? Maybe you’d feel better if I knew.”

“Yeah,” Blue smirks. He leans in, delivering a quick, appreciative peck to Red’s lips. “Thanks for asking.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’m Cuban. Darker skin, brown hair, you know. I’m tall, too. I don’t have a beard…” He falters, his brow furrowing. “I don’t usually wear a beard but I know fuck all about what my real body looks like at the moment, so who knows.” He shakes his head quickly, as if to banish the thought from his head. “Mid-twenties, so we’re probably around the same age. Blue eyes too. Not like these weird, super bright things but like, dark grey-blue. They’re not that… interesting.” He looks up at Red, meets his gaze. He looks a little apprehensive. “Do I keep going? I don’t know what else there is to say.”

Red’s doing some odd mental gymnastics, coping with the dissonance between Blue’s description and the real, solid android body right in front of him. He knows Blue isn’t telling him this so that he can picture him properly — he’s doing it just for the sake of knowing. “Thanks. For telling me.”

“Thanks for asking. Again.” 

“Anytime.” They look at one another, and Red feels this tug in his gut, signaling that they’ve waited long enough. That it’s time. 

And they start kissing, slowly at first, and quicker and quicker and their clothes are coming off, and their mouths are exploring other regions, regions that were previously unexposed. And Keith, positioned in the corner of the room, watches in both horror and fascination, and finds that no matter what he can’t look away, can’t block his eyes or ears. He’s not sure if it’s a weird, Quantum Abyss vision thing, or if he simply just doesn’t want to. 

After an indeterminate amount of time, Red is on his back as Blue enters him, keeping him quiet with a long, languid kiss. Then everything is muddled, fading to darkness, and Keith feels himself losing all feeling once again.

 ** _1_**  
Keith feels alone and very, very confused when he comes to. He’s lying on his back, eyes staring wide into nothing. He’s not hard anymore, oddly, but he thinks it’s probably from the whiplash of everything happening at once. He’s glad about it, though. It would feel wrong to take care of business after… that. That wasn’t his to see. 

He runs back to camp, needing his bed and needing to sleep. His mother is still out cold, somehow. She likely experienced her vision in her dreams. His wolf raises his head when he sits down, but he only shushes him and pulls him into a hug. He buries his face in soft, blue fur, and immediately feels at least marginally better.

Keith doesn’t want to think about who Blue is. If Blue is who he thinks he is, he’s not sure whether he would appreciate it or resent it. So he decides Blue isn’t who he thinks he is, that he’s definitely just someone else and that it’s that simple. Nothing had been confirmed, so he has no reason to believe he might be right. None at all. 

Instead, he tries to grab onto something else that he experienced today. Anything else. And his thoughts latch onto that song, that one that played in the coffee shop. He knows that song, it was one of his dad’s favourites. His real dad. 

He remembers the lyrics best he can, mulls them over in his head to help himself drift to sleep. He tries to focus only on that, on the sound of something other than what he heard in that last flare. 

_I've been waking up at sunrise_  
_I've been following the light across my room_  
_I watch the night receive the room of my day_

It’s working. He feels himself drifting off, his limbs feeling lighter and his his grip on his wolf’s fur loosening.

_Some people say the sky is just the sky  
But I say_

He can still hear it, faintly now, and it helps. He’s tired. He doesn’t need much longer.

_Why deny the obvious child?  
Why deny the obvious child?_

And before he can contemplate the irony of that last line, he’s too asleep to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not work in a cafe for 5 years only to skimp on detail when writing about making coffee. Turns out Keith is the perfect outlet for years of pent-up grumpy barista internal monologuing.
> 
> Songs in this chapter (in order of appearance):  
> [ Born at the Right Time ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ypNNxuPnSw)  
> [ Obvious Child ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HKNAhAxMAk)  
> (Both by Paul Simon)
> 
> Bonus: If you catch the Mass Effect reference I will literally name a character after you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are many things we can’t change. But we can change our perspective, Keith. We can decide that we will be okay, no matter what.”
> 
> “ _How?_ ” he interrupts, voice strained and harsh. “How can you just say that —”
> 
> “I found you, Keith.” She places a steady hand on his cheek. “The universe can’t be a terrible place if I found you again. No matter what brought us here.”

_**1**_  
Things are quiet the next morning. This isn’t abnormal for them, but Keith is still more silent than usual as Krolia cooks breakfast over the fire, his wolf gnawing at last night’s leftovers a few feet away. He’s sure his mother can tell there’s something going on in his head — she keeps giving him concerned looks, her gaze searching for any indication of what he might be thinking. He almost wished she would just ask, even though he didn’t even know what he would say. 

Talking to her about watching himself have sex with an android was obviously out of the fucking question. Keith may not have had a mom for very long, but even he knows that’s not something you talk to them about. Not with their relationship, anyway. It’s something he might discuss with Shiro, or maybe even Hunk if he were feeling especially desperate. But not his mom. That’s just… weird. 

It was _all_ weird, honestly. And despite the fact that he was seeing visions of himself in different realities, despite the fact that he was living on a whale, the strangest part about the past few days was that his visions seemed to be revolving around one person — the same person he had been trying not to think about for so long. And he didn’t know _why_. From what he knew about the Quantum Abyss, having lived here for the past while, the visions he had were often of important memories that left an impact on him. It made sense, then, that he was seeing things that were somehow important to those other versions of himself.

Except, he also didn’t want to read too far into his visions. Because reading too far into things would mean he’s getting invested, and getting invested would inevitably lead to disappointment — he wouldn’t be here forever, after all. It’s not like he’d ever get the full story. 

“Are you alright?” He looks up and sees his mother handing him a couple eggs, speckled beige and brown. Apparently he had been sitting in distracted silence long enough for her to finish cooking breakfast. He feels a twinge of guilt — he usually helps out. Of course she’s concerned for him.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully, taking the eggs in his hands. He rests one down on the ground and rolls the other between his hands, cracking its shell absent-mindedly. 

He hears Krolia sigh, sees her sit down near him out of the corner of his eye. Close enough to be near, but not enough to actually be next to him. She seems most comfortable in that space — letting him know she’s there without suffocating him, giving him enough room to breathe. It’s nice, sometimes. But he often finds himself feeling as if there’s still an invisible wall between them they haven’t exactly toppled just yet. He’s not sure what it would take for that to happen.

“Did you see something? Last night?”

Her gaze is earnest when he looks at her. He can tell how badly she wants him to let her in. He recognizes that she knows far more than he ever meant to tell her. She’s been in his head after all, seen his memories play out before them. But it’s still not enough for him to be able to share everything. Not yet, anyway.

“I did,” he says, before his mouth presses into a fine line. He drags his attention back to breakfast, fiddling with the shell of the egg, now broken into tiny pieces. 

“You don’t need to tell me,” she offers, resigned. 

“I know.” He takes a bite of his half-peeled egg. It’s not glamorous, but it’s honestly quite good. He told his mom he likes them at that sweet spot right before they’re fully hard, where the yolk is still soft at only the very center. He told her he liked them this way once, a while ago. The next time she found some eggs, she spent their whole morning testing different cooking times to get them done the way he liked. They’d been perfect every time ever since. 

He knows she’s listening. She hangs onto every word he says, remembers things even he doesn’t remember saying. Even if he definitely does _not_ want to touch on certain… subjects with her, she might be able to help. Maybe.

But not yet. Not until he’s sure what to say. At this point, he can already tell they’d only talk themselves in circles without actually getting anywhere. This was new to both of them, and he needed time.

“Keith,” he hears his mother say. He looks up, noticing she’s likely been watching him this whole time.

“I’m alright mom, really. I’m just… processing.”

“I see.”

“The eggs are really good.” It’s an awkward transition, sure, but his mother has never been bored by small talk. She appreciates it when he tries. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m sorry I was… distracted. I didn’t help out.”

“That’s okay, it can be hard. You don’t need to pretend it’s not hard.”

He feels his words catch in his throat. Krolia’s gaze is unwavering, yet warm all the same. 

“I want to understand you, Keith. You can always talk to me, when you’re ready.” He thinks he sees the corner of her mouth twitch, before she returns her attention to her own breakfast. 

And in a brief instant, he decides that he will. Eventually.

 _ **2**_  
It’s been two days, now. And Keith has never had to spend two straight days with another person, much less a chatty sea creature. It was actually quite nice at first, but he was downright exhausted now. He had run out of things to share. At this point, Lance knew about his childhood, and how he didn’t remember his parents. How he was very young when they got sick and he was sent away to an orphanage. How he had met Shrio at the docks one day, after Keith had escaped to go look at the boats. How he spent all his time dreaming of sailing, of the waves and the open sea, wishing he could experience it for himself. And how Shiro had given him that chance by hiring him as a cabin boy on his merchant vessel, and later, as his coxwain. Keith helmed his own small boat after that, trailing behind Shiro’s ship and running errands to and from shore. 

He told Lance about when Shiro got in trouble with some pirates, who had taken him away and held him for ransom. Keith hadn’t thought twice about a plan, but he went looking for him. And the crew, as if craving leadership, had followed him despite his age and inexperience. He skimmed over the gory details, but they found Shiro — most of him, at least. And they ensured that those pirates wouldn’t be harming anyone ever again. 

It didn’t take Keith long to tell Lance the tale of his short life. Lance, however, was far more elaborate in his descriptions. He embellished, he rambled, and he just seemed happy to have someone to talk to. Which was strange, Keith thought, given that he came from a large family of merrow. Lance spoke at length about his family, about his brothers and sisters and parents and grandparents, and Keith couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the knowledge that his new companion had experienced a kind of childhood that Keith had only wondered about, distantly, as every kid he grew up with was left just as alone as he. 

And as time trudged onward, and there was more and more silence between them as they grew tired of sharing, tired of revisiting old memories, Keith couldn’t help but wonder why exactly Lance was with him, of all people, when he had such a rich home life. What had he been doing to end up here? And how far was he from home? It didn’t make much sense to Keith, but then again, Keith was human, and Lance was merrow. There were certain things about him that he would likely never understand. 

That didn’t stop him from becoming progressively more annoyed, however, at the lack of alone time. Keith didn’t have trouble admitting it — he enjoyed solitude. It was comfortable for him. And although he had appreciated Lance’s company, for a time, he was becoming more and more worn down with every word, every interaction between them. He felt guilty, honestly. Because he was indeed grateful that Lance cared. But he was tired nonetheless. So he decided to take a particularly long trek through the dense forest away from the shore, just to clear his head. He had thought it was a splendid idea, until he returned to camp to find Lance planted face-down in the sand, several meters away from the water. And his tail — his tail was gone, replaced by a pair of long, tan legs, bent at the knees and pointing clumsily in two different directions. 

“What the fuck?!” Keith gasps, before running over to his companion. Lance appears to be struggling half-heartedly at righting himself. He rolls him over and watches as Lance gasps for air, desperately batting at the sand covering his own face. 

_Worried you were in danger. Tried to find you._ Keith hears in his head, as Lance blinks wildly and rubs at his eyes. 

“Why do you have legs?!” Keith couldn’t help but ask, because that… that was new. He didn’t know _that_ could happen. 

Lance is breathing steady once again, looking at Keith like _he’s_ the one who just somehow _metamorphosed_ out of fucking nowhere. 

_Merrow can have legs, too. If we want._ And… Okay, that literally doesn’t explain anything whatsoever.

“WHY HAVEN’T YOU HAD LEGS BEFORE?!” Keith cries, desperation apparent in his voice. 

_No reason to have them! Lived in water._ Lance shakes his head, wiping at a few remnant specks of sand at his mouth. _Don’t like legs. Too hard._ He makes moves to sit upright, pushing behind himself with one hand. Keith instinctively wraps an arm under his, a hand against his back steadying him. He’s still confused, sure, but the sudden proximity distracts him, and Keith finds his gaze trailing down Lance’s front, over his smooth, hairless chest and toned abdomen, down to —

“GAH!” Keith startles, letting go of Lance and swinging an arm in front of his own face. 

_What’s wrong now?_ he hears an exasperated voice say. _Sometimes you are so weird, Keith, honestly._

“Uh, you’re,” Keith mutters, peeking over his forearm at Lance’s perplexed expression. He’s sure as hell he must be red as a beet by now. “You’re naked.”

Lance squints, frowning. _I have been naked since you met me. I don’t wear clothes. Not a human._

Fair point.

“Okay,” Keith says, because… what the fuck is he supposed to say to that? 

_Need to go back in water to get my tail back._ Lance huffs, attempting to push himself onto his legs before crumbling back down, falling forward on his hands and knees. Keith stands, offering a hand and trying desperately not to look at the very firm, very _nice_ bum in the corner of his eye. _Focus_ , he tells himself, staring daggers at his own hand. 

Lance looks up, and something about this view is _doing_ things to Keith’s brain, but before he can dwell, a strong hand grips his forearm as Lance hoists himself upward, body colliding with Keith’s as he makes a feeble attempt to stand. And so, trying not to think at all, Keith acts logically and bends downward, placing a hand behind Lance’s knees and gently picking him up, bridal-style. 

_What are you doing?!_ Lance cries, indignant. 

“Carrying you to the water,” Keith answers. He silently thanks his luck that his demeanor is successfully masking how absolutely fucking rattled he feels. “You can’t walk, so I’m helping.”

 _I got this far out. Can do it again._ Lance huffs, crossing his arms. It almost distracts from how his body is definitely relaxing in Keith’s arms.

Keith gazes at the ground, where Lance’s footprints trail away from the water’s edge, completely disorganized and clumsy before they turn into one large imprint of a face-planted body. He raises an eyebrow. “Sure you did.” Lance pouts.

They’re at the shore in only a few seconds. Keith descends to his knees, water hovering at his upper thighs, and gently lowers his companion to the ground. The instant his body touches the water, Keith watches in fascination as Lance’s legs join together, a ripple of blue scales appearing from hip to foot like a wave. His fin appears with a flourish, before settling comfortably in the water. 

“Wow, that’s…” Keith stares, bewildered. “That’s something.”

And before he can say anything else, a splash hits his face, wetting him from the head down. 

“What the hell, Lance?!” 

He hears laughter in his head. _You should have seen your face._ Lance mimics him, scowling comically before erupting into more silent laughs. 

“Hey!” Keith splashes him back, as if Lance would even _care_ , as if being wet would even bother him, as if he’s not literally part fish.

Lance calms down, eventually, chest heaving as he sits upright. Keith feels his annoyance subside, and plants himself down in the water, sulking. Everything is already wet anyway, he figures. He feels odd, existing somewhere between annoyed, bewildered, and _something else_ he can’t quite put a finger on. Something that has inexplicable heat rising in his chest, that has him avoiding Lance’s gaze as if it will trigger something in him, though he doesn’t quite know what. 

_I’m sorry._ He looks up slowly, reluctantly, meeting a pair of wide, concerned eyes. _Didn’t mean to make you angry._

“I’m not angry,” Keith manages. He’s really not. He’s a lot of things, right now, but angry isn’t one of them. 

_What are you, then?_

That’s a good question. A really good question. He doesn’t know, honestly, but Lance is looking at him like he expects an answer. 

“I’m fine.” He needs space. He’s tired. He’s not used to this. “I… I need to be alone for a bit. I’m sorry, Lance, but I’m used to… being alone, most of the time.”

 _Oh._ Lance looks away. Keith feels bad, suddenly. Very bad.

“You did nothing wrong, seriously, it’s just…” 

_I don’t like being alone_. Lance lets out a single, unamused laugh. _I guess we are very different._

“We’re not _that_ different.” It spills out of him without warning, without thinking. He’s not entirely sure where he’s going with it either. “Why don’t… Okay, I want to go for a run around the island. I want to go for a run for… exercise. How bout you join me?”

Lance looks annoyed, insulted even. _Can’t run. Are you making fun of me?_

“No, no, no, I mean, why don’t you swim around the island? With me? We can race.” 

_Race?_ Lance blinks. After a moment, his face twists into a now-familiar cocky grin. _You think you can go faster than me? With your stupid legs?_

Keith scowles. “My legs aren’t stupid!”

_Legs are stupid. In general. Too slow._

“You’re gonna regret that.” He gets up, shrugging off his clothes. He doesn’t stop to think that he’s literally about to run naked around the island, because there’s no way in _hell_ he’s letting wet clothes drag him down. “Alright, go!”

And he runs. For a brief moment, he could have sworn that he saw Lance falter, saw his face turn to a mix of shock and fascination for a brief second. But it doesn’t matter, because Keith is high on the adrenaline of competition, and he’s not letting a cocky-ass merperson beat him. 

_That as fast as you can go?_ Lance’s voice is teasing, yet winded. 

“Try me,” Keith smirks, pushing forward with newfound inspiration.

 _ **3**_  
“Is everything vegan?”

“No. Only the carrot cake and the chocolate cookies.”

The customer turns to her friend. “I really like this place because they have desserts that are gluten free.”

“Uh, they’re not gluten free, they’re just vegan.”

“But gluten’s an animal?” She looks at Keith in disbelief, as if _he’s_ the one who’s _completely fucking insane_.

“Gluten’s not an animal!” _What the actual—_

“ _Well_ , we’re going to go somewhere that isn’t into _false advertising_ , then!” Her friend shoots Keith a stern, disbelieving look before they both head out the front door. He’s still standing there, gaping.

He hears an exasperated sigh. “What did you do this time?” Katie emerges from the door to the back, carrying a milk crate. 

“They thought gluten was an _animal_!” 

“Wait, what the _hell_? Seriously?” She’s cackling. “That’s so fucked!”

“I know!” he crosses his arms. “I hate people.”

“Same honestly.” She squats down in front of the fridge under the coffee machine. “Gimme a hand?”

“Sure.” Keith joins her, moving milk aside to make room for a new batch. His anger is subsiding, as it usually does with these kind of interactions. They only infuriate him for a few seconds, before they’re tucked away in his little bank of terrible customer stories that he shares with Shiro. 

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m going out with some friends Sunday after work. Wanna come? Hunk’s working his last Sunday shift and wants to celebrate.”

“Oh,” Keith pauses. He genuinely likes hanging out with Katie, even without Shiro and Matt. But he doesn’t exactly know her friends. “Hunk’s the one who works like, two blocks from here? At the pub?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen. He’s great, Keith, you’ll love him. Sweetest guy you’ll ever meet.”

“Who else—” They’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening. They stand up, instinctively, and Katie closes the fridge shut. 

“Hi!” She calls out to the customers, who are gazing at the interior of the cafe in near-fascination. They’re still standing by the door, not making any efforts to walk forward. 

“Uh,” she looks at Keith, puzzled. He shrugs, grabbing a rag and walking over to the coffee machine so that he can pretend to clean it while spying on them. He gets a better look — one of them is an older man, maybe middle-aged or slightly older, with bright orange hair and a comically large moustache. The other is a young woman, with dark skin and silver hair. It’s a jarring contrast, but it works on her. Huh. 

Their outfits are odd, however. They’re uncoordinated, as if they grabbed at random items at a Walmart and threw them on. The woman is wearing an excessive amount of mismatched shades of pastel pinks and purples, and the man is sporting formal navy pants and a very informal corduroy jacket. They’re still staring at the walls and decor, pleasant smiles plastered on their faces. The man walks toward one of the small potted cactuses on the large communal table, lifting it up and taking a peek at the underside of the pot. _What the hell?_

He shoots Katie a look. One of those, _’are you seeing what I’m seeing’_ scowls. She shoots back an _‘I literally have no clue’_ frown. He’s pleased with the near-telepathic link they’ve developed after working together a while. 

When he turns his head, he realizes the young woman has approached him. Her eyes are really big and _really turquoise_ — it’s kind of weird. “Hello!” she says, in a sing-song british accent. 

“Uh, hi?”

“I would like one coffee!” She grins widely, looking over at her companion as if proud of what just came out of her mouth. He gives her an encouraging smile and nod. 

“Sure, what kind of coffee?”

“Oh, there are different kinds?”

“Yeah?” Keith says, making no effort to hide his confusion. “The menu’s on the wall, right there.”

“Oh,” she appears mildly panicked all of a sudden. “I would like the third one please!”

“An americano?”

“Yes! One ah-me-ri-ca-no.” It sounds as if she’s testing the word on her tongue. 

“I would like one as well!” The man approaches Katie, a proud smile on his face. His accent is different… It must be, Australian? Or from New Zealand? He can’t quite put a finger on it. 

“For here or to go?” Keith grunts at both of them. 

“You can get them to go?” The woman’s eyes widen in fascination. “Oh my!”

“How remarkable!” The man’s expression matches hers. They look at each other, wonder and excitement apparent on their faces. 

“Uh, it’ll be $4.50,” Katie interrupts. Keith grabs a portafilter and begins to make the coffees while keeping an eye on the cash. He watches as the man pulls a handful of loose change out of his pocket and plunks it down on the counter without counting it. 

“My uncle and I are visiting! We find your town most interesting.” 

Keith looks up. The young woman is beaming at him, eagerly smiling. 

“Thanks?” he offers. “It’s more of a city.”

“Oh, okay!” 

Keith furrows his brow, pretending he needs to concentrate. He doesn’t, really. He’s done this literally thousands of times. When he places both filters in the machine and watches the shots pour through, he remarks that the woman is bending forward over the counter, trying to get a good look at what’s happening. Her expression twists from disbelief to fascination in two seconds flat. “Remarkable…” he hears her mutter. 

When he hands both coffees to her, she stares at them and lowers her head for a whiff. She takes a careful sip, before recoiling in disgust. 

“Is coffee normally this bitter?”

He’s annoyed now. His coffee is great, and the grinder is calibrated to perfection. He never accepts anything less. 

“We have milk and sugar over there—” 

“Oh, and how much should I put in?”

“I don’t know? Enough for it to taste good?”

“Can you put it in?” She hands the coffees back to him, her polite smile returning. 

“Sure?” He frowns, grabbing the sugar dispenser he keeps next to the machine and adds an approximate two spoonfuls to each coffee, assuming that somehow these people have never had coffee before in their lives. He mixes in a generous amount of warm milk and hands them back to her. 

“OOOH! That is much better! Thank you so much. You are so very kind.” Keith can barely bring himself to feel grumpy at that, honestly, because it’s not often that customers are quite _that_ grateful.

“You’re welcome.” A tiny smile pulls at his mouth. “Have a good day.”

“You too!” She grins, joining her uncle and heading out the door. He immediately turns to Katie.

“Okay, that was weird, right? She didn’t know what coffee was.”

“Yeah! And I swear he had no clue what money was either.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah,” Katie’s brow furrows. “Maybe they’re aliens?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Not every weird customer is an alien. Also, I don’t wanna have this conversation with you again, but aliens don’t exist.”

“I’m just saying! It would explain things.”

“Hey, she was cute.” Keith looks up, seeing Lance leaning on the counter, his backpack swung over his shoulder. They had apparently missed his arrival. Keith had been expecting to see him, honestly. He comes in practically every day now, either before class or to study. 

Lance raises an eyebrow, smirking. “She seemed to like you.”

“Wha?” Keith sputters. He hears Katie snicker at his side. 

“Oh yeah, she was totally Keith’s type.” Keith shoots her a glare. 

“Well, I’m just saying, she seemed into it.”

“She’s not my type,” Keith says, because what else is he fucking supposed to say? He grabs a rag, again, and starts nervously wiping the machine.

“Oh yeah?” Lance leans forward slightly, his gaze still teasing. “Too much pink?”

“Nope, I’m just too gay.” 

“Wha?” Lance’s eyes widen, his cocky demeanor melting before Keith’s eyes. “You, uh, yer—”

“Keith’s super gay,” Katie affirms, grinning. 

“That’s cool.” Lance’s voice is higher than usual. _What the hell is his problem?_

“You have a problem with it, or something?”

“NO! No, no, no, no problems at all!” His face is reddening by the second. “I was just… surprised. I don’t — okay, I’m gonna go drop off my stuff and shut up. Cool.” He spins on his heel, nearly tripping over himself on his way to the table. 

Keith frowns. “What’s up with him?”

“I dunno. Why don’t you ask him yourself, Sunday night?”

“What?” His head jerks toward her, meeting her subtly evil smirk. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything! I’m just saying, it’ll be you, me, Hunk, and Lance. It’ll be a fun night out, they’re good people. 

He sighs, crossing his arms. “Why do you want me to come?” It wasn’t every day that he went out with new people. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he had. 

“I like hanging out with you, Keith. I wanna do more of it. That’s it.” She offers him a genuine, heartfelt smile. 

“Fine.” 

“Great! I’ll meet you here when you’re done closing.” She picks up the empty milk crate, heading through the back door once again.

Keith huffs. He isn’t actually annoyed with Lance, he’s only put up with enough prodding questions about his sexuality that it’s gotten quite old. He didn’t want to have that kind of conversation. But it seemed that wasn’t Lance’s intention, and that he was simply someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and couldn’t contain any of his thoughts and feelings even if he tried. And Keith felt himself regretting his snap judgement, once again, realizing that these misgivings were becoming a common theme. Maybe the job was getting to him. 

He looks over at Lance, who appears to be frantically digging for his wallet in his bag. He does this literally every day, except this time, Keith remembers that Lance had left it at the cafe the day before.

“Hey Lance!” he calls over to him across the room, without thinking. His eyes shoot up, meeting Keith’s nervously. “Got your wallet back here.” He gestures behind him, unable to suppress this small smirk creeping up on his face.

Lance sighs, relieved. His arms are still buried elbow-deep in his knapsack. “Thank you Keith! Can you make me a coffee? Please?”

“Uh, what’s that? I — I can’t hear you.” Keith looks over at the pastry display case, and starts wiping it down innocently, the smirk spreading wider now. 

“Wha — uh, okay, I’ll come over there.” And he does. He walks over, and chats with Keith idly as he makes Lance’s fucked up oat/cow hybrid coffee. And when he heads back to his seat, settling in with a notepad and a small book, Keith still feels that gentle tug at the corner of his mouth. And although he’d never admit it to Katie, he’s kinda looking forward to Sunday.

 _ **4**_  
He hears sirens blare faintly outside, hears yelling way down below, in the street. The neon is coming in through his window, illuminating his tiny studio apartment with faint trails of colourful lights snaking from the window across the ceiling. He hears his neighbours partying through paper-thin walls, even though it’s a Tuesday night. It’s all things that he would normally resent for keeping him up at some ungodly hour in the morning.

But this time is different. Because this time, Blue is with him in his own bed. Their job just happened to be a few blocks from Red’s place — a rare occurrence. They seized the opportunity, though Red worried about whether Blue would mind the barrenness of his apartment. His place was uninteresting — he was never used to having possessions, and that didn’t change as he grew up. But Blue had said it was perfect, it was perfect because it was _his_ , and Red knew he hadn’t set foot in an actual person’s home in a long, long time. Blue missed the semblance of home, and Red was more than willing to offer him one. If only for a few hours.

He looked at their hands, fingers entwined and resting on the mattress between them. They had fucked up at the shop again, and given Blue a femme body — one with a tall, lanky frame, a black pixie cut, and tanned skin. This wasn’t like the first time they had made this mistake, though. This time, Blue was happy. Before they had taken off their clothes, Red asked if he was sure. And Blue smiled wide, saying that these hands were so similar to his own that he didn’t mind the rest.

Blue asked him if he minded, if it was okay that he was in this body. And Red had replied that he was happy that Blue was happy, and that was what he cared most about. 

As they lay down afterward, tired and spent, Red’s chest heaving (Blue didn’t exactly need to breathe), he found himself focusing on their hands, trying to take a mental picture of what it would look like if they were _really_ holding hands. He liked it. A lot, in fact. 

Blue notices him looking. He squeezes his hand tighter, rolling over to face him. “That was _so good_ , Red, you have no idea.”

He can only breathlessly smile in reply, his eyes meeting familiar, glowing teal. He reaches over, planting his free hand firmly on the side of Blue’s cheek, and kisses him in reply. It’s not one of the hurried, starved kisses from before. He wants this one to feel like they’ve got time.

When they part, Red takes a moment to survey the damage, and realizes they’re kind of a mess. They chuckle, in a soft, quiet way, but strongly nonetheless. “Gimme a sec,” Red says, “I’ll get something.” 

He rises, albeit reluctantly, and grabs some wipes from the bathroom. When he returns to the room, Blue is sprawled just as he left him, staring at him with a hazy, heavily-lidded gaze. He’s still smiling. _I did that,_ Red thinks. _I make him feel like that._ And he stares back as if in a trance, absorbing every inch of what he sees before their time together is cut short.

“You gonna come over here or what?” Blue says after a moment, wearing a cocky smirk. Red has come to associate it with when Blue feels most himself, when he manages to forget. He’s been wearing it more often lately.

Red smiles, joining Blue back in bed and kneeling next to him to clean them up. It’s intimate — a lot of Red’s past partners never made the effort to help with this part, only taking care of themselves. He doesn’t want to do that to Blue.

Once they’re clean, Blue takes him in his arms, nuzzling his face into his hair. Red presses his face into the crook of his partner’s neck. He’s sure he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face if he tried.

“How much longer?” He asks after a moment.

Blue glances at the clock on the bedside. “An hour before I gotta leave for the shop.” Red huffs in annoyance, squeezing him tighter. He laughs. 

“Hey, Red?”

“Yeah?”

“How, uh, how’d you get here?”

“Mm?” Red’s eyes flutter open, taken aback. He raises his head to look at Blue, still holding onto his cool, unnaturally hard body. “What’s ‘here’?”

“Like,” he furrows his brow, glowing eyes narrowing in thought. “I wanna know more about you. About… _you._ So, how’d you start working in… whatever this is.”

Red smirks. “How’d I become a professional smuggler of blackmarket goods?”

“Okay, so like, _that’s_ what we keep delivering to people? Cause no one actually explained anything to me, I thought it might be drugs but— ”

“Sometimes it’s drugs.”

“Oh, cool.” Blue pouts, thinking. “That makes sense.”

“Sometimes it’s cybernetic implants and body parts.”

“That’s… That also makes sense.”

“Sometimes it’s real body parts.”

“Whu—” Blue’s head whips around, eyes boring into Red’s with alarm. “That’s… That’s fu—”

“I’m kidding.” Red can’t help but widen his smirk. Blue’s cute when he’s flustered, regardless of what body he’s in. “It’s never real body parts. To my knowledge.”

“Ah, good, I guess?” He doesn’t exactly look relieved. The arm he has wrapped around Red tenses. “Look, I’m just trying to figure out… I barely know who I’m working for right now. I’m not exactly doing this because I _want_ to, I kind of _have_ to if I wanna have any hope of y’know… not dying, or something. And —” He looks at Red, meeting his gaze again, head-on. Red nods, a more serious expression creeping onto his face. “And even though these aren’t the best circumstances… I still…” He inhales sharply, running his free hand through his short hair. “I really like being with you, Red. A lot.”

“Oh,” Red’s eyebrows rise faintly, eyes widening. “I like y— being with you too.”

The smile Blue offers him is overcast with a faint, grey hue. He reaches his free arm over, brushing mechanical knuckles over red’s cheek, temple, hairline. He rests the hand gently in his hair. 

“But… I mean, you’re working for the people holding my body hostage. And to my knowledge, you’re working for them willingly. So, I guess I’m just trying to understand why.”

Red bristles at this. He’s always figured Blue wasn’t exactly working with him of his own volition. He’s blissfully unaware of the exact circumstances surrounding Blue’s reasons, but he knew a handful of androids who were paying off debts, or being otherwise punished for rubbing his bosses the wrong way. There are others whose bodies are out of commission — in comas, heavily injured, or whatever else could get you in that state — and who didn’t have any other means of acquiring a body to live in except to deal in this business. 

But Red’s not an android. He’s a living, breathing, person made of flesh and bone just like Pidgeon, just like Black… or most of Black, at least. And although he didn’t have many options, he still chose this life. He chose it because it was better than living on the street, sure, but he made that choice all the same. 

He sighs, resting his head back in the crook of Blue’s neck. “I grew up in the city with my parents. We were poor, but we were happy. My mom…” he breathes. “My mom worked for some sort of resistance organization, trying to undermine corporate rule. I don’t know much about it, but one day I got a message from her telling me not to come home. They had killed my dad, and my mom had to disappear.”

“ _Shit_ , Red.” The arms strengthen their hold around him. He opts not to look at Blue, it’s easier to get through it this way. He wants him to know, he deserves to know. 

“I couldn’t go with her, there wasn’t enough time. I was basically homeless for a while. I was small though, and quick. Stealing shit was pretty easy, until this guy caught me trying to take his car and —” His mouth twitches against Blue’s neck, eyes softening. “ — I guess he kinda took a liking to me. His alias was Black, and he was a vet that lost his arm in the service. He was working as a smuggler ‘cause he had nothing left after he came back. It was his best option for earning a living, getting a new arm, y’know. He took me under his wing, and that’s how I got here. I’ve been at this for about a decade, now. It’s not ideal, but it’s something.” He paused, thinking about Blue’s words from before. “And I get it if it bothers you, or if you don’t… trust me —”

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Blue says, pulling back and looking at Red, hand still nestled in his hair. “I trust you, Red. You’re one of the only people I trust right now. I never wanted you to think otherwise.” He smiles. “Like I said, I’m just trying to —”

“Understand?”

“Yeah.” His expression is fond. Red can’t help but believe him. “What happened to Black, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t mind, it’s not a sad story.” Red leans his head back on the pillow, facing him. “He wanted to get married to his partner and start over. So he left. But he had to… ‘disappear,’ for that to happen. He’s living out in the colonies now. Pidgeon says she doesn’t know where, but that he’s safe.”

“Oh, that’s pretty… reassuring, honestly.” Blue grins at him. “And your mom?”

“Similar situation. She’s living out on 243 Ida, and she can’t come back to Earth. I get encrypted messages from her, and Pidge helps me answer them.”

“Huh,” Blue furrows his brow. “That’s… I’m real happy to hear that.” 

Red takes a moment to study his face. He can’t help but get the sense that Blue is not only glad for his sake, but for his own as well.

“What about you, Red?” Blue asks, suddenly looking at him again. “Would you ever, y’know… start over?”

“I don’t know.” He’s not used to being asked these questions. It takes some time for him to come up with an answer. “For a long time I was doing this in part because I was grateful to Black, for getting me off the street. My life is better than it used to be, even though it’s still hard to get by sometimes. And I’ll always be grateful to him. But…”

“But he’s gone now?”

“Yeah. I guess I haven’t thought about it because I haven’t had a reason to start over. Yet.”

Blue’s staring at him now, as if he’s trying to say something without actually speaking. Red isn’t sure what he’d want him to say in the first place. Before he can think about it too hard, Blue opens his mouth.

“I get that you’re grateful to Black. But…” He bites his lip, choosing his words carefully. “But he’d probably be the first one to tell you that you have to move on… eventually.”

“Yeah. Eventually.” Red isn’t sure what exactly would need to happen to get him to start over. He’s never given it much thought. He’s been relatively happy with his current illusory sense of security, despite living paycheck to paycheck. He’s not sure why, but he doesn’t exactly want to think about leaving it behind just yet. “Blue, uh, who else do you trust? Other than me, I mean?”

Blue blinks, no doubt taken aback by the change in subject.

“It would make me happy, knowing you’ve got support.”

“Oh,” Blue softens, a smile creeping onto his face. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve got Sun, my comm-link dude. He’s the nicest guy, super easy to talk to.” He pauses. “He likes you. He… approves.”

Red can’t help but blush. He turns away slightly. “Yeah, Pidge… she likes you too.”

“Well, I’m glad.” Blue smirks. “Good to know our comm buddies with whom we share a creepy, invasive mind link approve. I can’t imagine how shit it would be otherwise.”

It only takes Red a half second before erupting into a fit of near-embarrassing giggles. Blue is right there with him, cupping his hand and squeezing it tightly between laughs. They calm down after a moment, Red staring back into the artificial light of Blue’s eyes.

“What about you? How’d you get here?” He tenses, afraid of overstepping. “You don’t need to tell me if it’s personal, but—”

“I’ll tell you. Another time.” Blue smiles, giving his hand a squeeze. He looks over at the clock, before turning back. “Next time.”

A rush of warm relief fills Red. He reaches a hand over to cup Blue’s face, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s a date then.”

 _ **1**_  
When the flare ends and the dizziness subsides, Keith realizes he’s standing. The flare hadn’t knocked him over this time.

He’s trying not to think too hard about it, trying instead to focus on gathering his bearings, on finding his mother and returning to camp. But he can’t. He can’t because he’s _happy_. Everything he had seen, everything he had felt — he had lost himself in it, for a time. And it felt good. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it did. And before he knew it, he collapses onto his hands and knees, an uncontrollable grin creeping onto his face.

Seeing Allura and Coran was a shock. He had no doubt that Pidge’s alternate reality counterpart was right in that they were _definitely_ aliens trying coffee for the first time. He shakes his head. He missed them. He missed them so much, it felt so good to see them.

He thinks of how fucking ridiculous Lance looked trying out legs for the first time. And how Hunk apparently knew them as well, in that second reality. And how Shiro was _alive_ , and okay, in each one. And it’s just so much information, it threatens to overwhelm him. He felt it bubble in his gut, putting pressure in his eyes.

Yet, as much as he tries avoiding the thought of Blue, his mind drifts there anyway. He shuts his eyes, trying his damndest not to go there, but it doesn’t work. He can’t help it. 

_— he’d probably be the first one to tell you that you have to move on._

Keith hears Blue’s words in his head. He repeats them to himself, over and over. Except they’re not Blue’s words, they’re Lance’s. And as much as it pains him to admit, as much as he doesn’t exactly want to, he knows now without a single doubt that Blue is Lance. That somewhere, in some untenable alternate reality, he and Lance share a bed every chance they get. 

Except, they don’t only sleep together. They talk, too. They _like_ being together. And Blue — he likes it just as much as Red does. It’s mutual, it’s equal, and it hurts to think about because Keith has spent too much time wondering whether Lance could ever feel the same way about him. He apparently can — in another universe, under different, irreplicable circumstances. And he’s not sure if that’s comforting, or terrifying, or a confusing mix of several things at once.

Keith breathes, steadying himself, his happy tears threatening to turn dark. He can’t let it get to him. They’re not him, after all. He’s got his own life to live. 

. . .

He’s halfway to camp before he remembers something else that threatens to throw him off balance. His father — his father’s gone in each reality he had visited. There wasn’t a single one where he hadn’t died. 

He stops walking, the realization punching him in the stomach, a strong unease rippling through him. He blinks back the beginnings of tears, and instead of trying to make sense of it, instead of mulling it over, he decides to run as fast as he can to get back to camp quicker. He’s not sure what’s pushing him forward — it’s instinctual, as if some force is calling out to him. He knows that he’s needed.

When he arrives, Keith isn’t shocked to find Krolia sitting on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest. She’s covering her eyes with her forearms, their wolf whining next to her, poking her with his snout. He stops running, approaching cautiously, and crouches down in front of her. He’s never seen her cry.

“Mom?” He places a firm hand on her arm, the other scratching behind his wolf’s ear. When she uncovers her face and stares at the fire pit, he doesn’t see tears — only her familiar, stony expression. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says, without hesitation. She still isn’t looking at him. 

“Did you — did you see Dad?”

“Not this time.” She smiles sadly, her eyes a million light years away. “He was gone.”

Keith lets out a long exhale at the confirmation, sitting back on his haunches, tense pain escalating at the back of his throat. _It’s not fair. It isn’t fair. The universe is playing some sick, fucked up jo—_

“Keith.” She steadies him, reaching a hand out against his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

The dam breaks, hot tears spilling from his eyes. He doesn’t try blinking them away this time. Before he can help it, he leans into her touch, allowing himself to fall against her shoulder. He feels a hand in his hair suddenly, pointed ends scratching comfortingly against his scalp. 

They wait a while, sniffles occasionally escaping Keith’s throat. Krolia holds him solid as ever, her support unwavering. Minutes pass, and the tears subside. His mother hasn’t said a word, she’s waiting for him to give her a sign.

“How did you do it?” he asks, finally, removing himself from her embrace and sitting on the ground. “How’d it feel to see him in each one?” He doesn’t understand how she can be okay, how anyone could be okay, with this knowledge.

“I was only happy to get to see him. It reminded me of why I loved him. I won’t ever need to be reminded again.”

She squeezes his shoulder, this time looking straight into his eyes. A small smile curves at her lips. 

“There are many things we can’t change. But we can change our perspective, Keith. We can decide that we will be okay, no matter what.”

“ _How?_ ” he interrupts, voice strained and harsh. “How can you just say that —”

“I found you, Keith.” She places a steady hand on his cheek. “The universe can’t be a terrible place if I found you again. No matter what brought us here.”

He raises a hand, clasping down on her forearm. And with great effort, resisting the base urge to collapse once again, he nods. 

They sit by the fire for a while longer, not knowing how much time has passed. Time is different here, after all. It could have been minutes or hours. He watches the fire dwindle, waiting until the last possible moment to reluctantly get up and replenish its kindling. Though he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, he does feel better. He hopes Krolia can tell — he wouldn’t want her worrying. 

“What did you see?” she offers, as he places the final branch in the pit. He looks at her, taking in the effortfully open expression, the sympathy, the care. He hasn’t had a mom for a long time, but he supposes he should be grateful that he finally does. 

“I saw Lance. I saw him in each vision.” Keith looks back at the fire, not knowing how to elaborate. That last piece of kindling gets swallowed up by the embers, edges burning away right before his eyes. 

“The only regret I have is that we didn’t have more time, your father and I.” He looks at his mother once again, at her stoic, solid expression in the light of the flickering fire. He can already anticipate what she’ll say next. 

“You still have time, Keith. You’ll see him again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole “gluten’s an animal” thing happened irl to a regular that worked at a vegan place across the street from the bakery I was at. I have also served customers that I am convinced were aliens. Assume that 90% of the coffee shop AU is just an extension of real life.
> 
> Also, fun astronomy facts: 243 Ida is an asteroid located in the outer region of the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. It was the second to be visited by spacecraft, and the first discovered to have its own moon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe existence just repeats itself over and over forever and everything is predetermined. Who knows? It’s fun to think about, but science can’t explain it. Doesn’t mean it’s not a possibility.”
> 
> “It’s not a possibility, though,” Keith chimes in. “Life ends in death, and life forms are constantly changing. Until they stop existing. Because _everything_ stops existing at some point.”
> 
> “Wow, man. I, like, tried not to peg you as emo right off the bat but you’re makin’ things real hard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out writing four complete stories at once can get a little confusing. I had some moments of doubt a couple weeks ago, but knowing that 20 or so of you were subscribed gave me enough motivation to persevere! 
> 
> Anyway, we’re back thanks to hand-written outlines and post-its (good tools for mapping out a story with multiple timelines. Thanks, Reddit.)
> 
> CW: a character gets shiftaced in the final scene. Please drink responsibly, folks.

_**1**_  
Things are better, since the last time. Keith felt as if some wall had come down between him and Krolia, as if talking and sharing had become easier. Even when they didn’t talk, even when they didn’t have the energy for that, they were physically closer than before. Sometimes they’d sit by the fire, his head on her shoulder, one of her arms draped across his back. It wasn’t odd, like he might have expected it to be. He welcomed it — it was starting to feel as though he really had a mom. As though he had someone he could always talk to, about nearly anything. Someone he could count on for support no matter what. And it felt nice — even though it was something he had never consciously wanted, something he wasn’t aware was missing from his life. But he was happy about it all the same. 

It almost eased the sting of knowing what he knew now — that he had lost his dad in every alternate reality he had visited. He had thought it spectacularly unfair and dark at first, had let it haunt him for a few days afterward. Getting over that had been… hard. Like mourning his father’s death all over again. But this time, Krolia had been with him. She would offer to hold him when he felt his strength leave him, she would reassure him when he lost hope. And this time, he felt like he just might come out of it okay — mostly because she kept reminding him. He had never felt that kind of assurance before when facing his past. He wasn’t alone in feeling the way he did, and knowing that brought an odd sense of comfort. 

That didn’t mean, however, that he and his mom were entirely on the same page. Krolia had become slightly preoccupied with finding meaning in what she was seeing — in deducing common patterns in the events that unfolded in every alternate reality they visited. It made sense, he supposed, seeing as they didn’t have all that much to actually _do_ in their spare time besides hunt, train, and play with the wolf. But he didn’t see the point. It wasn’t like each reality perfectly mirrored the others, or like there was any discernible pattern in what they were shown. 

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence, Keith,” Krolia tells him one morning while fiddling over the fire, a few days after the last flare. She doesn’t need to elaborate for him to know what she’s talking about. 

Keith hums, skinning the strange space bird he caught for breakfast just outside of their camp. Maybe if he says nothing, she’ll let it go.

“There must be a reason for it.”

“There is no reason,” he mumbles finally, in reply. “I happen to know Lance in other realities. So what?” He’s done skinning the bird, getting up and handing it to her. “I apparently know everyone else, too.”

“He’s different. You know he’s different.”

Keith huffs, turning away. He bends down to where his wolf is lying lazily, eyes half lidded. He rubs his belly. “He’s not. He’s a friend. They’re all my friends.”

“You know what I mean.”

Keith furrows his brow. He legitimately doesn’t know, and he feels like thinking about it is the kind of thing that might hasten their certain descent into madness, if they end up staying in this weird space-time pocket much longer. Accepting that it doesn’t mean anything is much safer, honestly. Or at least, would result in fewer headaches. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell him?”

“ _Mom!_ ,” Keith cringes. Is this how it always feels when parents pry into your personal life? It’s different than when Shiro prys. Way more awkward.

“I’m just curious, Keith.” She’s wearing a subtle, amused smile. He’s not sure if she’s telling the whole truth. He’d bet she also likes bothering him. Maybe she’s trying to embarrass him for fun. They don’t have much else to do. 

“He doesn’t like guys,” Keith mumbles, wiping his knife clean on some moss. This might not be entirely true, he realizes, given what he’s seen in the flares. “He doesn’t like me,” he adds after a moment.

“Who wouldn’t like you, Keith?”

“Ugh, _Mooom_ , stop!” Maybe she’s like this because she’s literally an alien. He hadn’t thought of that. Maybe human parents didn’t have such morbid interest in their kids’ sad love lives.

She’s smiling wider now, and _yep_ , she’s definitely only doing it to get a rise out of him. Great. They really were getting fucking bored of living on a goddamn whale. 

“I’m gonna go play with the wolf,” he says, standing abruptly. 

“Okay,” Krolia sighs. “Be back in ten, breakfast will be ready.”

“Kay,” he mumbles, turning away as quick as possible. He envies his friends, having grown up with parents. They’re probably used to it by now. 

_**3**_  
“ _A man walks down the street_  
_He says why am I soft in the middle now_  
_Why am I soft in the middle_  
_The rest of my life is so hard_

He’s closed hundreds of times at this point, but it’s still Keith’s favourite part of the day. Honestly, playing music so loud that you can’t hear yourself think while methodically wiping tables and flipping up chairs is one of life’s little pleasures. Also, the door’s locked. Which means no people, which means Keith can finally be at peace after seven or so hours of serving clients. If he didn’t have this part, he’s not sure he’d be able to do the rest. 

“ _I need a photo-opportunity_  
_I want a shot at redemption_  
_Don't want to end up a cartoon_  
_In a cartoon graveyard”_

It’s almost like internalized choreography at this point — wiping, picking up chairs, flipping them over in tune with the music. He even whistles a little, which is another thing that makes him glad no one’s around. He’d rather not have people know that he actually kinda… _enjoys_ work. He’s got a standoffish image to uphold. Gotta scare clients a little bit so that they don’t think he wants to have an actual _conversation_ with them.

“ _Bonedigger Bonedigger_  
_Dogs in the moonlight_  
_Far away my well-lit door_ ”

He shudders, remembering a very one-sided interaction with a client today about his recent trip to Southeast Asia. Keith made the mistake of smiling, inciting him to spill his guts out about how very _inspired_ he felt after visiting some sort of shrine. Ugh. White people.

“ _Mr. Beerbelly Beerbelly_  
_Get these mutts away from me_  
_You know I don't find this stuff amusing anymore_ ”

Dang, he loves this song, even though its lyrics don’t make much sense. Paul Simon is a genius. He feels excitement bubbling in his chest, knowing the chorus is just around the corner.

“ _If you'll be my bodygu —”_

_BANG BANG BANG_

“What the f —”

He whips his head to the front of the shop after nearly dropping the chair he was flipping. Lance is knocking loudly on the window, grinning wildly. He waves a loose, flappy hand once he’s got Keith’s attention.

Keith cocks an eyebrow, offering a tentative, stiff wave in return. He’s been expecting Lance, expecting Katie and Hunk too, but he can’t help but feel a little shocked regardless. 

“I LOVE THIS ONE!” Lance yells at him, muffled by the glass pane separating them. Huh. Apparently, he did listen to the songs Keith recommended. Lance hadn’t mentioned them since, and he had assumed he lost the list or just didn’t care enough to go through with it. 

Just as he sets down the last chair on the final table and moves to open the front door, he stops. Lance has started _dancing_ right on the fucking sidewalk, oh god. He’s literally doing the _running man_ to “Call me Al”. It’s so _wrong_ that it’s actually kind of working. Keith expects to feel second-hand embarrassment. He expects to feel himself caring that a few passers by are staring at both of them. But he doesn’t, really. Partially because Lance seems to be enjoying himself. And partially because… it’s admittedly kind of ridiculous. The good kind.

“You gonna let me in, mullet?!” Lance yells, taking a break from dancing to rest his hands on his knees. 

“It’s not a mullet!” Keith crosses arms, smirking. 

“I’ll keep dancing! I’ll sing! It’ll be AWFUL!” 

Keith shakes his head, trying and failing not to smirk wider.

“Suit yourself! YOU CAN CALL ME A —”

“Oh my god,” Keith mutters, unlocking the door. He steps aside, holding it open as Lance saunters through. “Someone’s excited.”

“Dude, you have no idea.” Lance plops himself down on a barstool, positively giddy. “This week was shit. I just submitted a paper that took me, like, _four_ days to write, and my niece got an ear infection while I was watching her. I’m so ready to go out.”

“Four days?” Keith cocks his head, arms crossed once again. “That doesn’t sound bad.”

“You try reading Nietzsche for four days without letting it drive you insane.”

Keith scoffs, amused. “What are you studying?”

“It’s my last year of undergrad. I don’t even know anymore.”

“Fair.”

Keith makes his way behind the counter, needing only to sweep the room and mop behind the bar before heading out. He grabs two glasses from under the counter, adds one ice cube to each, and sets them down on the counter. 

“What’s that for?” Lance eyes him, suspicious. Keith only looks at him blankly in response. He walks over to the office, opening the door and disappearing inside.

“What are you doing, Keeeith?! Are you poisoning me?”

“Yep.” He emerges, holding a half-empty bottle of Glenmorangie in one hand and a jigger in the other, attempting to conceal his own excitement. He bets that Lance definitely doesn’t like scotch.

Lance raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“It’s good and it’s expensive.” He measures out two shots in each glass, pouring them over the ice. “Drink.”

Lance lifts the glass to his nose, giving it a hesitant sniff. He pulls back, face twisted in agony. “Woah, woah, it smells like rubbing alcohol and a campfire.”

“It’s scotch, genius.” He clinks his own glass with Lance’s, taking a sip. 

Lance wretches. “What the hell, KEITH?! How do you drink this?”

“You get used to it.” He smirks, setting down his glass and walking over to the mop bucket. Lance takes another hesitant sip, this time only curling his lip in subtle disgust. Must be growing on him. 

“Soooooo,” Lance says, after a moment. “This is a first.”

“What is?” He dunks the mop in the water, wringing it out and bringing it to the ground. 

“Us hanging out. All of us, with you.”

“Yep.” He cringes slightly. There’s a reason Keith doesn’t like hanging out with new people. They do stuff, like expect him to talk. While he’s mopping. He never talks while mopping.

“Cool.” He’s not looking at Lance, but he can feel the mild discomfort and hesitation permeating from him in waves. He hopes the music is enough to distract him. “Uh, how was your week?” _Damn it._

“Decent.” He stops mopping for a moment to look at Lance, who’s taking another sip of his drink. Unlike the first time, he doesn’t recoil in disgust. “Getting used to it?”

“Oh, definitely not.” Lance laughs, shaky. “I’m more of a… cocktail guy.”

“I figured.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen you put three sugar packets in your coffee.” Keith pauses, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “I see _everything_.”

“Oh, damn, okay.” Lance rubs the back of his neck, smiling slightly. “So, like, you _do_ judge people for putting sugar in their coffee.”

He goes back to mopping. “Always. And for mixing oat and cow milk.”

“Aw, man! I have reasons!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Cow milk is like, too milky, yaknow? But oat milk is too thin. So if you mix them it works. Try it.”

“I’d rather drink my own piss.”

Lance gapes at him. “Woah, okay, rude.” _Nice, Keith. This is going well_. “It can’t be like, the _worst_ order you get.”

Keith chuckles. “It’s not. Today, a lady ordered a latte with _milk on the side_.”

“That’s…” Lance’s eyes widen. “That doesn’t even make _sense_.”

“Right?” He sets the mop in the bucket, reaching over to the cash to punch out. “I’ll be right back, try not to steal my drink while I’m gone.”

Lance crosses his arms. “As if I’d voluntarily drink more of your _poison_.” He chuckles.

Keith offers him a short, subtle smile. He’s not sure if it resonates, but he’s out of there before he can get confirmation. He has no clue how to entertain people, so resorting to offering drinks is his best bet. And talking about drinks, apparently. _Fuck,_ he needs to get back into his hobbies. Maybe he’ll renew his membership at the MMA gym. He forgot to do that. 

He empties the mop bucket in the toilet, cringing at how unglamorous the task is. He immediately kicks off his kitchen shoes and changes out of his mystery-stained old work jeans into his best slim, black pair with ripped knees. His gross, stinky work tee gets traded for a black Depeche Mode t-shirt that he found in his dad’s closet years ago. After slipping on his leather jacket and some black lace-up boots, he makes his way to the bathroom mirror for a final look. _Shit_. His hair looks like it’s been through the wringer. There’s probably coffee in it. He runs a finger along his temples. Yep, definitely coffee grounds. How the fuck does that happen?

After giving his face a good rinse and tying his hair back, he grabs his backpack and makes his way to the front.

Lance is looking at his phone. “Dude, this really great Trini DJ is playing at that caribbean club down the street, we should g—” He looks up, eyes widening in surprise, lips parting slightly. “Guh.”

Keith furrows his brow, looking down at his outfit. “Whuh… what?” Is there still coffee on him? _Damn it._

“Uhh, nothing. It’s cool.” Lance shuffles in his seat, reaching for his drink and downing the last of it, gagging slightly. He clears his throat, shaking his head. “So!” His voice is a little higher than usual. That’s weird. “Do you wanna go to the —”

“HEY, LOSERS!” Keith jumps, turning around to see Katie and who he assumes to be Hunk emerging from the back. They must have entered by the side door. Figures. Katie always tries to scare him while he’s emptying the mop bucket. She steps forward, eyeing the counter and shrieking in surprise. “How did you find the scotch?!”

“Not telling.” He smirks, grabbing a couple more glasses from under the counter. 

“Oh man, this is good stuff!” Hunk is grabbing the bottle, admiring its shiny label. 

“Tell that to Lance. He’s got no taste.”

Lance releases a loud, indignant squawk. “YOU’VE got no taste!”

“You’re outnumbered three to one, bud.” Katie eyes him, cracking her knuckles. “Oh man, I’m so happy I won’t be the only one roasting Lance tonight.” She offers Keith a fist. He bumps it. 

“Aw guys, play nice!” Hunk offers Lance a soft look. “Tastes are subjective!”

“Thank you, Hunk!”

“Agh,” Katie facepalms, skewing her glasses. “Right. Keith, Hunk, Hunk, Keith. Great, now you’ve met!”

Hunk offers him a hand. “Nice to meet you, man. Katie’s always talking about how cool you are.”

“Wha — HUNK! What the hell!?”

Keith smiles, taking his hand and shaking it. Hunk seems cool and Lance is… something. He supposes that their night might be off to an okay start.

 _ **2**_  
Lance won the race, which is entirely not fair because running on sand and swimming in water with a fin were two completely separate things. Keith should have known this going in, but he wasn’t thinking straight. 

It’s almost as if after he lost, after Lance saw his disgruntled face, he started making strange attempts to make it up to Keith. That evening, he had brought him a really fucking big fish for dinner. Like, bigger than necessary. Keith had voiced this, and Lance immediately left in search of a smaller one. And for the first time since he became stuck on an island in the middle of god-knows where, Keith didn’t mind that Lance doted on him. He didn’t mind that he had company, and he was actually starting to enjoy it. He had grown almost fond of his companion in the short time they had spent together, despite his early misgivings about spending all his time with another very present and boisterous person. 

That didn’t stop him, however, from getting antsy. Lance had already done so much for him, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t at least return the favour in some way. He also needed something to get his mind off the fact that it had been five days, and there was still no sign of Shiro’s ship anywhere in sight. This sobering fact would often make it difficult to fall asleep at night, on his makeshift bed of palm leaves by a slowly dying fire. He had never given up on finding Shiro, despite all signs indicating that it was a lost cause, and he tried to keep faith in the idea that his captain would do the same for him. 

He had never really drowned before, though. Maybe that would change things. 

Suffice to say, it was a heavy weight on his shoulders and he needed to occupy himself. Which was how he ended up agreeing to help Lance learn how to walk. 

_Don’t like legs! Don’t like falling. Can’t fall in water._

He hadn’t expected, however, that Lance would be a reluctant and whiny student.

_Land is dumb. Don’t understand why it’s so easy to fall._

“It’s called gravity.”

_Don’t like gravity._

“Fuck, Lance, you get used to it. It’s not that hard.”

 _Easy for you to say. You have had legs since you were born,_ Lance says, pouting at Keith with crossed arms. He’s still sitting up by the shore, his tail flapping indignantly with every word projected telepathically into Keith’s head. 

Keith inhales, sharply, questioning why he’s even bothering. 

“Okay, okay, think of it this way. If you learn how to walk, you’ll have like, a leg up on all the other merpeople. You said yourself that barely anyone you know uses their legs.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. _A ‘leg’ up?_ He waits one, two seconds before erupting into a fit of silent giggles, rolling on his back. Keith sighs again.

“Come on! Take me seriously!”

_A LEG up! Keith! You’re a genius!_

Keith pouts, sitting crossed legged a few feet away from Lance. He can’t really help it, but the sight of him rolling around, cackling in the surf warms his heart a little. He likes making Lance laugh, even if it’s barely ever on purpose.

He smiles. “Okay, okay it is pretty funny.”

 _KEITH!_ Lance is on his back now, grinning at him from a strange, sideways/upside-down angle. _If you help me walk will you make more leg puns?_

“I — I don’t know many leg puns.”

 _You make them up as we go! That’s what puns are for._ Lance grins again, rolling over a couple times to get out of the water. He’s on his back, sticking his tail straight up and closing his eyes, brow furrowed as if thinking very hard.

“Are you — how do you do the thing?”

_Shhh, this is serious business._

“So _now_ we’re serious?”

Lance exhales a dramatic sigh. He offers Keith an exasperated stare. _Can’t get legs if you don’t let me concentrate._

“Okay fine,” Keith huffs. Lance purses his lips, looking back at his tail. He shakes it a little from side to side, his fin swishing with the movement. After waiting a couple seconds, he lifts a hand and gives its side a solid smack. 

It’s nearly quick enough that one would miss it. Lance’s tail splits down the middle, scales fading away in a ripple and fin retracting. After only a fraction of a second, his scaly blue appendage is replaced by two long legs, sticking up in the air. 

_Nice._

Lance rolls over, bringing his legs straight in front of him and sitting up, albeit slightly clumsily. He looks down, frowning. Keith follows his gaze, realizing at the last possible moment that Lance is definitely looking at his — 

_Why are human dicks exposed?_

“JEEZ, LANCE.” Keith falls backward, draping a forearm over his eyes in embarrassment.

_And why are you ashamed of them? Doesn’t seem to make sense, since they’re exposed. Merrow are not ashamed of ours, even though they are sheathed most of the time._

“I’m not doing this.”

_Doing what?_

“I’m not talking about human dicks with you.”

 _Why not?_ Lance’s tone is firm. _If you are giving me leg lessons, I will have questions. You need to answer them._

“Fucking hell.” Keith sits up, hesitantly uncovering his face. He levels an unimpressed gaze with Lance’s inquisitive one. “Okay. Fine. I don’t know why our bodies are the way they are. We wear clothes to cover ourselves because we’ve been doing so for thousands of years, probably. It’s a… cultural thing.”

Lance cocks his head, raising an eyebrow. _Wow, Keith, that explains so much._

“Ugh! YOU never explained anything to me about why YOU can have legs, or why you learn how to heal people, or where you came from or why you’re not with your family right now instead of here with me.” 

Lance inhales sharply, his face twisting with hurt. He turns away, hunching his shoulders. 

“Lance?” Keith croaks, getting up on his knees.

_If you don’t want me here, I can go._

“No, no that’s not — I like having you here. I just… wish I understood.” He shuffles closer to Lance, unsure of how exactly to go about comforting a downcast merperson — or any person, for that matter. “You don’t have to talk about it but maybe things would be better if we didn’t hide anything. We only have each other right now.”

Lance shifts at that, looking at Keith over his shoulder. He lies on his back, spreading his legs out. He sighs.

_Merrow need to leave home when we become adults. To learn more about the world and take care of ourselves._

Keith can’t help it. 

“To stand on your own two feet?”

Lance gawks at him. In an instant, his face is lighting up, laughs slowly sputtering from him in bursts.

_Tha — That was a good one! Oh man._

And this time, Keith laughs along as well. 

_Okay, okay._ He inhales, visibly more relaxed. He sits up, gazing distantly out at the water. _It’s part of our culture as well. To leave our families. We go out into the world and find another merrow, or person, or group to accept us. We make our own families. We can only return to visit our birth family once we’ve been accepted by another._

His lip quirks. He looks at Keith from the corner of his eye. 

_That is why we can have legs. Sometimes merrow join human families. We are adaptable, and we value cultural exchange. It makes us better. Our healing abilities are valuable to any family we join, which makes their lives better as well._

This is… This is surprising. Keith has never heard about merrow mingling with humans before. His knowledge of merpeople was limited at best before this whole ordeal started.

“I’ve never heard of merrow joining humans. Does it happen often?”

Lance squirms, uneasy. _It is rare. It used to happen more, a very long time ago, but humans now are suspicious of merfolk and magic. They do not trust us easily, and it can be dangerous for us._ Lance sighs. _I do not blame them, though. There are more sirens now than before, and they are a threat to humans. They lure and kill humans for sport._ He shakes his head, before looking at Keith. _If humans knew more about merfolk, and what makes merrow different from sirens, they would be more accepting. We have lived with sirens forever. We know what they look like, sound like, and we are not affected by their song._

Keith processes this. Admittedly, he never knew much about merfolk before meeting Lance, and every story he heard about involved people dying at the hand of sirens. It was something that sailors talked about often, even though no one was really sure how much of these stories were true. Sailors could fall overboard for any number of reasons. 

_I have only been on my own for two months. I have been alone, this whole time._ Lance’s face twists with discomfort. _I found some humans shipwrecked on an island one month in. I wanted to help. But I couldn’t use my legs to get closer to them, and they tried attacking me before I could explain._

“I’m… I’m sorry Lance. Humans are —”

 _It’s okay. I know you aren’t all bad._ For the first time since Keith brought up his family, Lance smiles at him. _You were never scared of me._

Heat rises in his cheeks, affection bubbling in his chest. _Damn it_ , Keith didn’t anticipate that. He didn’t stop to think that maybe Lance had his own reasons for staying with him. Lance may have saved Keith’s life, but Keith had accepted him as a friend. That seemed equally important to him. 

“You should join our crew,” Keith sputters without thinking. Lance raises a questioning eyebrow. “When Shiro rescues us. Or when we find him. He’d accept you because I did. They all would.”

_Are you sure?_

“Positive,” Keith replies. Because he is. Shiro was never one to judge. His entire crew was a band of misfits with weird but highly valuable talents. He’d definitely be appreciative of Lance’s healing and siren recognition as well.

Lance is elated. His face brightens, beaming, as he surges forward and squeezes Keith in a close hug. Keith is still aware that Lance is definitely naked, but it doesn’t seem weird anymore. His embarrassment was kind of trivial, now that he thinks about it. He wraps his arms around his companion before he can overthink things, surprised at the laugh that escapes his lips. 

Lance pulls back, holding Keith by the shoulders. He grins. _We need to get on with the leg lessons, then. I can’t impress Shiro if I can’t walk._

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Keith smiles back at him, squeezing the hand on his shoulder for a split second. “Let’s do this.” 

_**3**_  
“Aliens don’t exist.”

“He’s serious, guys, I’ve already tried to break him.” Katie leans back, crossing her arms and pouting. Her round glasses glow slightly in the faint light of the bar. They’re sitting on some repurposed church pews around a large communal table, indie music blaring from the speakers. It’s not Keith’s ideal kind of place — he prefers classic pubs frequented by an older crowd, more likely to play bluegrass than Of Montreal. But he didn’t make a fuss. Hunk had chosen this place for their nachos (which were, admittedly, delicious) and it’s his night after all. 

“C’mon man!” Hunk grins, filling up Keith’s glass with more beer from their communal pitcher. “The universe is infinite! There’s gotta be something out there.”

Keith grabs his beer from Hunk. “There isn’t and the universe is dark and empty.” He takes a sip. “Thanks, man.”

“What the hell, Keith.” Lance squints. “There’s, like, a super high chance that life exists somewhere out there. Space is more habitable than you think. There are lakes on, like, Titan. We just haven’t encountered any aliens yet.”

“I’m not saying that life has _never_ existed anywhere else,” Keith says, keeping a straight, unimpressed face. “I’m saying that it’s probably died off. Just like we will.” He smiles.

“UUUUUGH,” Katie groans, rubbing her eyes under her glasses. “He’s not gonna budge. Stop trying.”

“Okay, wow, dark.” Lance takes a sip of his beer, a white moustache of foam lingering on his upper lip. “The universe might be infinite, or at least really really big, and last time I checked, we exist. So, if space and time are infinite, there are definitely other life forms existing out there.”

“Yeah!” Hunk grins. “Also, I read something about there being bacteria that can live underground without light or photosynthesis or anything. Life doesn’t need to look like us to count as alien life! There could be, like, tiny little adorable bacteria guys living under the surface of what may look like an uninhabitable planet.”

“Naw, Hunk, that’s boring.” Lance grins, swirling his beer on the tabletop. “I’d bet that there might even be parallel worlds just like our own out there. Or maybe alternate realities, with us in them but slightly different. Or maybe exactly the same.”

“Ooorrr,” Hunk quirks an eyebrow. “Complex molecules of carbon and other elements floating around on planets or asteroids outside of our solar system. I feel like that’s more likely than the multiverse or eternal return theory.” He frowns. “And it’s not boring! It’s cool!”

“It is cool!” Katie grins. “Methane and ethane are both nonpolar hydrocarbon solvents that were found in liquid form on the surface of Titan! And they’re just as cosmically abundant as ammonia.” She pushes her glasses up on her nose and leans forward. “A life form with hydrocarbons as solvents could be more stable than water, since water is super chemically reactive and breaks down organic molecules through hydrolysis.” 

Keith smirks. He likes when Katie rambles about things that only make sense to her. He never understands, but is always amused. Hunk seems to be as well, though he probably at least kind of gets what she’s talking about. Lance on the other hand —

“Uh, _what_?” He blinks a couple times, dumbfounded. “No offense, Kat, but I think my stuff is cooler.”

“That’s cause you’ve spent all week with your nose in Nietzsche. Who, by the way, was a philosopher — not a scientist.”

“I know that, geez.” Lance rolls his eyes. “But maybe there are things that science can’t explain? I dunno, but if you keep thinking of everything in terms of nuts and bolts and molecules or whatever you can miss the bigger picture.” He crosses his arms, smirking. “Maybe existence just repeats itself over and over forever and everything is predetermined. Who knows? It’s fun to think about, but science can’t explain it. Doesn’t mean it’s not a possibility.”

“It’s not a possibility, though,” Keith chimes in. “Life ends in death, and life forms are constantly changing. Until they stop existing. Because _everything_ stops existing at some point.”

“Wow, man. I like, tried not to peg you as emo right off the bat but you’re makin’ things real hard,” Lance sneers.

“What?” Keith smirks. “It’s not ‘emo’, its true. Death is the only certainty. For us, for Earth, for the sun, for the universe, even.”

“Okay, so death is certain,” Lance humms, resting his elbow on the table and his head in his palm. “So if death is our ultimate fate, that means at least, on some level, you believe in fate.”

“Uh, sure?” Keith’s not sure where he’s going with this.

“So who’s to say that we’re not fated to experience other things as well? That, like, maybe a bunch of aspects of our lives are predetermined, or that we can’t control our futures.” Lance crosses his arms and leans back, self-satisfied. 

“That’s… kinda depressing?”

“Says the guy who was just talking about how everything’s gonna die.”

“I mean,” Keith furrows his brow. “The idea of not having control over your future is scary. But so many things happen randomly, and yeah, we don’t really have much control over the things that happen to us. But I’d like to think we at least have some degree of control over where we’re going.”

“I mean, maybe.” Lance grins. “Or we’re just Sims puppeted by some twelve-year old on her dad’s computer. Or our universe exists in a tiny box and is being used to generate energy to run some guy’s car battery.”

“Was that… was that a fucking _Rick and Morty_ reference?”

Lance winks at him.

“Oh my god.” Keith burrows his hands in his hair. “ _That’s_ where this is coming from.”

“Where what is?”

“You can’t — you’re one of those people who watched Rick and Morty once and became obsessed with space and the multiverse.”

“Uh, no, Keith I’m not. I come from a long line of sci-fi junkies. My Dad has this massive collection of novels. I read Asimov in high school. My sister and I watch The Expanse together every week.”

“Oh.” Keith furrows his brow, confused. He doesn’t know what either of those are. “Cool.”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about?” Lance’s face spreads into a grin. “Papa Kogane’s not a sci-fi junkie, I guess.”

“No, he wasn’t.” 

“Oh — _oh._ ” Lance’s face twists with concern. He runs a hand through his hair. “Jeez, Keith I didn’t —” 

“It’s fine, man. It was a long time ago.” It really is. He’s used to it. “He liked bluegrass, folk music and synth pop. And shooting.” He smiles.

“Synth pop? Bluegrass?” Lance grins. “Your Dad sounds pretty white.”

“He was. I took my mom’s last name after… After she went missing. We both did.” This isn’t exactly what we wanted to talk about on a night out, no doubt. Keith curses the hole he dug for himself. This always happens. He takes a couple more sips of beer.

“Dude —”

“Lance, it’s fine. It was a long time ago, and it’s just what it is.”

He can’t exactly read the look on Lance’s face. It’s some weird mix of concern and empathy. It doesn’t feel like pity, thank god. Keith’s not sure what he’d do with that.

“We’ve all got our shit,” Lance says to him, after a moment. He takes a sip of beer. “We’re buds now, though, so if you ever want to talk about anything, just say the word.” He offers him a tentative smile. 

“Yeah,” Keith softens at that, the corner of his mouth twitching. Knowing he has the option to talk is kinda… nice, without feeling forced to do so. Maybe this is normal when making friends. Keith wouldn’t really know. He’s not used to it. 

He leans his head back, resting against the wall with lidded eyes locked on Lance, a pleasant buzz of warmth creeping up his neck and in his head. It’s… different. But not unwelcome.

“What books did you say you liked, again?” Keith’s not sure if he’s asking to fill the silence, though it’s comfortable enough to not feel pressured. Or if he’s asking to get to know Lance better. Probably both.

“Oh, uh, I’ve read a bunch. And honestly, I mostly read, like, Isaac Asimov in high school so I don’t really remember much of it other than that I, y’know, liked it.” He smirks slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lately I’ve been getting back into Samuel Delany though. He’s super hard to read but once you sort of understand what’s going on it’s real neat.”

“Huh.” His face feels kinda heavy, or something. The bar’s gotten kind of loud, and Lance appears to be leaning in towards him, nearly resting his head back on the wall just like Keith is. Huh. That’s… that’s interesting. “Whad’you like about it?” He croaks.

Lance looks down, leaning away slightly. Keith notices he’s been fiddling lightly with the hem of his shirt. Maybe he’s pushing too far? But about what? They’re literally talking about books. That doesn’t seem super pers — 

“Delany’s, like, big in queer sci-fi.” He says this without looking at Keith.

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” He furrows his brow. “He and other writers helped me a lot with my… thing.”

Huh? “What thing?”

“I’m bi?”

“Oh.” Keith is… admittedly very happy to hear that, he realizes. He’s trying not to look too happy, though he’s got some sort of weird urge to smile all of a sudden. He tries not to, given how Lance seems to be serious. 

“Are you, uh, okay?” Lance asks him after a moment, looking at him now.

“I’m so good.” Keith manages, trying to keep his mouth in a straight line. Fucking alcohol. He’s not thinking straight.

“I just —” Lance sighs, rubbing his arm. “I’m not great at talking about this kind of stuff, I think I kept it in for so long that talking about it still doesn’t feel… natural.”

Lance is really attractive, Keith realizes. His voice is nice, too. He feels like he’s known this for a while, but everything is like, really _really_ obvious right now. 

“Are you… are you cool with that? I dunno, I’m always scared of telling people cause sometimes I kinda feel like a fraud.”

“S’cool.” Keith slurs. “Very okay.”

“I dunno, I’ve only dated women so there’s… that. I don’t know if I count, yaknow?”

Wait, wait. Oh God, Lance is like, baring his soul to Keith. This is probably a really important moment for him. Keith cringes, mildly horrified at himself. _Be a friend and listen. Offer support, or whatever._ He’s literally just been checking Lance out this whole time during a moment of meaningful personal reflection. Fuck, he’s an asshole.

“Are you — are you sure you’re okay? You look kinda…”

“No, I’m like, really okay with that. I just…” He squints. “I think I’m getting kinda drunk.” He chuckles. 

“Oh,” Lance eyes him for a second before breaking into a wide grin. “Do you… Do you not go out often? We’ve had, like, three drinks.”

“Nope,” Keith grins back, popping the P for emphasis. “M’like going to bed early and stuff. M’a barista.”

“Dude,” Lance smiles wider, “ _Dude_ , that’s so… that’s real cute.” His face drops. “I don’t mean that in a patronizing way or whatever…”

He’s still talking. Lance is definitely still rambling but Keith is hung up on the _cute_ part. Oh man, what the hell is his brain doing? He thinks he’s smiling. He must be smiling. Is that weird?

“Hey losers.” They both look up to find Katie grinning widely at them, standing behind her seat with Hunk at her flank. “We just literally played an entire game of foosball.”

“Huh?” Keith manages.

“We’ve been gone for a while.” Her smirk adopts that barely noticeable evil sheen. “Did you not notice?”

Keith feels Lance tense at his side. “No, no, no, no I totally noti—”

“I had no fucking clue.” Keith feels himself grinning. It’s pretty funny, honestly. “I wanna play foosball.”

“Sweet!” Hunk lights up. “I’ll play with you. Katie’s way too evil, she plays dirty.”

“Nice.” Keith gets up, steadying himself. Standing has made him both more aware of how drunk he’s gotten, but also more confident in his ability to handle it. A game of foosball should be a piece of cake.

 _ **4**_  
“ _Soooo, what are you guys gonna do?_ ”

“I’m taking him to the roof, and we’ll talk there.”

“ _What, no dinner? Flowers?_ ”

“Pidge, it’s not like, a “date” date. We’re just talking.”

“ _Boring._ ”

Red sighs, eyeing the door of the shady basement convenience store Blue had slipped into about ten minutes prior. He leans against the concrete wall, trying not to let it get to him. Transactions like these don’t usually take more than a couple minutes. 

“ _He’s fine, Red, the client’s just chatting with him a little._ ”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“ _I’m not reading your mind, I just know how you think. You worry too much about Blue, you know? He can handle himself._ ”

“Yeah, yeah.” He hears the door jingling open, Blue emerging from it and giving him a wink. “Kay, he’s done. Comm off, Pidge.”

“ _You got it. Enjoy the date._ ” He hears a faint snicker before the line goes dead.

He turns, facing Blue as he bounces up to meet him. Today, his body is that of a tall man, with dark skin and a short crew cut. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Blue smiles. “The client was chatty. Really excited to be getting a cybernetic hand or something.”

“Cool.” Red smiles in return. Though their clients were often unsavoury folk, they did get the occasional good-natured soul that made the job almost pleasant. He’s glad their evening was off to a good start.

“Where’re we going?” 

“Follow me.” He takes Blue’s hand, tugging him forward. “It’s not that far.”

Red winds them through a dark back alley, mostly deserted save a couple rats scurrying to make room for them. They arrive at the closed door of a fire escape, its neon sign the only source of light at this time of night. Red waves his wrist on a sensor, triggering a faint click, and opens the door, ushering Blue inside. 

They scale fifteen storeys, keeping quiet just in case. Red occasionally chances a glance back at Blue, offering him a short grin. He’s excited, honestly. The prospect of getting to know more about Blue is almost more appealing to him than sharing his bed, at this point. He wonders what that means, if anything. 

On the top floor, Red pushes a door open leading to the roof. The view isn’t much, at first, but as they make their way closer to the edge, they’re greeted with a nearly full panorama of the city. From up here, the jarring noises on the street are reduced to a faint buzz, and the dirt and grime are invisible, obscured by tall buildings and shining lights stretching as far as the smog allows. 

“Oh shit,” Blue mumbles. “I didn’t think it could look this good.”

“Right?” Red grins at him, squeezing his hand. Blue is looking at the cityscape with an expression of awe that’s familiar to Red, though he can’t quite put a finger on it. 

“Thank you,” Blue says, turning back to face him. The awe is still there, and Red realizes it’s the same look that Blue gives him when they’re lying together, holding each other and counting down the minutes until their time is cut short. It does something to him, stirs something inside of him that he’s not quite sure how to handle, and before he can think he’s kissing Blue and holding him tightly as if he were to escape at any second. He can feel that Blue’s startled, at first, but he leans into it after a moment, their bodies melting together in a way that has become all too familiar, despite the ever-changing nature of Blue’s form. Red finds himself wishing for a day when Blue’s body will stop changing. When he’ll be himself, completely and fully. But he’s not sure when or even if that will become a possibility.

Blue breaks the kiss after a minute or two. Red feels him smiling against his mouth, a hand running through his hair. “Hey, I thought this wasn’t _that_ kind of date.”

“Yeah, I know.” Red pulls back, reluctantly. “Should we, uh—” 

“Sit? Yeah. That works.”

“Cool.”

And they do, close enough to the edge to maintain a view of the city, but far enough to feel safe. Red scoots over, grabbing Blue’s hand in his and entwining their fingers. 

“Whaddya want to know?” Blue asks him, finally, after some time spent getting comfortable. He seems a tad nervous.

“Whatever you want to tell me. No pressure.” 

“Okay,” Blue sighs, looking back toward the skyline. He runs a thumb along Red’s knuckles. “My family’s from Cuba, but they immigrated to a colony on Titan before I was born. They’ve got a farm there. It’s a real nice place. That’s where I grew up.”

“You’re a farm boy?” Red grins. “I dunno why that’s surprising.”

“Not the first thing you think of when you see a handsome android smuggler like myself.” He winks, though his smirk doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wanted more though, I wanted adventure. Flight school was the best opportunity for that, so I studied my ass off to become a cargo pilot. It was the cheapest program, but I didn’t mind. Seemed more interesting than piloting for a commercial airline. Less stressful, too.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool.” Red smiles. “I’ve always wanted to fly.”

“It’s sweet, honestly. I hope I get to do it again someday.” Blue sighs. “That’s kinda where it started.”

“Where what started?”

“What got me here,” Blue says, his brow furrowed. “When I got my license and started working, I was so happy. I got to see other planets, I met really interesting folks on leave. It was really great. But my family was struggling without me, and my brother and sister. We had all left the nest, and they were down three pairs of hands. They were raising my niece and nephew too, which was… expensive. I heard that some cargo pilots accepted extra jobs under the table, so I kinda started doing that. It was smuggling, essentially, it was definitely _not_ legal but it seemed like everyone was doing it, so i figured it was okay.”

Red nods, catching how Blue seems to be deflating at every word. Instinctively, he leans his head on his companion’s shoulder, nuzzling lightly in the crook of his neck. He feels Blue rest his head on top of his own. 

“I sent the extra money I made back to my family. At first it wasn’t much, since I was only really transporting produce and other shit that’s like, weirdly regulated. But then it was drugs, since I could make more that way. And I honestly thought it wouldn’t be an issue. Our employers turned a blind eye, and no one was ever really caught.” He chuckles. “It was dumb, in retrospect. As if they were the ones I should have been worried about.”

Red has a feeling where this is going. He squeezes Blue’s hand again, encouraging him to continue. 

“I was cutting into the profits of some major smuggling rings on Earth. I didn’t even think about it, I literally had no idea it would be a problem. But about seven months ago, I arrived on Earth with a shipment, and before I knew it I was taken and locked in a dark room. This scary looking android dude told me I had cost his bosses tens of thousands in losses, and that I needed to make it up to them by working for them. I didn’t really have a choice, so I agreed. I haven’t seen my real body since.”

“Fuck.” Red shudders. “That’s — that’s kind of horrifying.”

“Yeah.” Blue leans his head further into Red’s. “It sucks, honestly. But it is what it is.”

Red is thoughtful for a moment. His employers may be shady as all hell, but they keep their word. He’s never known them to do otherwise. That might be wishful thinking, but it’s comforting all the same.

“Did they tell you how long you’d have to do… this?”

“Kind of? They said around a year, give or take a few months, enough to repay the debt. Maybe earlier if I happened to do something that really saved their asses, though I don’t know what that could be. Then I’d get my body back, and I could either continue to work for them on Earth, or ‘disappear’.”

“That’s… ominous.”

Blue chuckles. “Yeah, it is. But I think it just means I gotta leave and not come back.”

Red’s breath hitches. He’s known for a while that this was a possibility, but hearing it from Blue himself makes it all the more real. He knows Blue won’t want to stay after his debt is paid — he can’t imagine anyone would, under these circumstances. But it hurts all the same.

“Red?” Blue asks after a moment, sensing his silence. He pulls away, looking into his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Red replies a little too quickly, ignoring the mounting pressure behind his eyes. “That’s… I’m really sorry, Blue. That’s a lot. You shouldn’t have to be dealing with —”

“It’s okay.” Blue smiles at him, cupping his cheek. “Seriously, it is. It was really bad at first, but then I met you. And you have no idea how happy I am to have met you. None of my other contacts treated me like a person.” He brushes a thumb along Red’s jawbone, the teal light of his eyes piercing Red’s. “You make me feel like a person again.”

Red loses it. Before he knows it, he’s crying into Blue’s shoulder, feeling strong arms wrap around him, hands tracing comforting circles in his back. He feels guilty for taking this moment from Blue — it’s his story, and Red feels almost selfish for sobbing over the possibility of losing him for good. But he can’t help the surge of emotion, and allows it to engulf him. 

“I don’t want to leave you, either,” Blue whispers after a few minutes. “But —”

“But?” Red pulls back, wiping his eyes defiantly, as if Blue would forget what he had just been doing.

Blue smiles at him, softly. “If I’m gonna be with you, like, for real, I wanna do it right. I’m… not myself right now. And I might need some time after this is over to figure myself out again. I’m not saying you need to wait for me or whatever, but I’ll reach out to you when I’m ready. Okay? Then it’s up to you.”

Red nods, lips pursed. It’s a lot to take in.

“I will.” Blue hugs him, nuzzling his face in Red’s hair. “I promise. When I’m ready.”

“And until then?” Red’s voice is muffled in Blue’s collar.

“We can keep doing what we’re doing. If you want. We’ve still got a few months.”

 _It’s not long_ , Red thinks. Not nearly enough, though he’s not sure what would constitute an acceptable amount of time. He barely knows the real Blue, but he knows he’s brave. He knows he’s been put through the wringer and he knows he’ll be okay, because he’s strong. But he also doesn’t know Blue outside of these isolating circumstances. He doesn’t know how he interacts with the world as a person with zero degrees of separation between themselves and their body. And that’s important. A body might only be a vessel for the mind, but most people go through life with only one body to call home. Blue hasn’t been so lucky, and the change must be taking its toll. Red can’t even imagine it. 

He decides he wants to know Blue as he was, as he is when things are normal. He wants to know the Blue that lives on Titan and has a big family and was cocky enough to think that he could get away smuggling drugs across the solar system without pissing anyone off. He wants to know the Blue that comes out of this mess a breathing person again. Maybe then, they’d have a chance at something longer and more lasting. 

Maybe then, Red would finally “disappear” as well.

“What’s your name?” Red says, almost a whisper, pressed into Blue’s shoulder. It’s definitely frowned upon to exchange names in this business, what with the illegality of it all. You’re also not supposed to get too attached, though, Red definitely failed at that the moment he and Blue started talking. Not knowing names never really stopped him from caring, not for Black, or Pidgeon either.

“Lance,” Blue says after a moment’s pause. He exhales a long breath, growing looser in Red’s arms. “Shit that felt — I haven’t said it in months.” Red looks at him, noting his wistful stare at the skyline, lights beating down on the hard surface of his synthetic skin. He looks at Red, wearing a smile that reaches his eyes this time. “And yo—”

“Keith,” he interrupts, because he can’t wait a second longer. He’s smiling too, the tears from earlier still lingering, though the sting isn’t there anymore. 

“Well, Keith,” Blue says, grinning for the first time this evening. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Lance.” And at the sound of his own name, Blue — Lance, rather — twitches, his grin faltering and giving way to a pursed smile, brimming with emotion that Keith can barely begin to understand. But he’s happy to be here, and to play a part in what he’s feeling. 

And he looks forward to that promise of whatever comes afterward. Even if it might be a while yet.

 _ **1**_  
“Fucking hell,” Keith mumbles, rubbing his head where it struck the ground when he fell at the sign of the flare. “Fucking stupid quantum abyss solar shit,” he adds under his breath. He can’t tell if his mild headache is only a result of the fall, or the onslaught of information he just received about all three versions of Lance that he had been familiarizing himself with. 

He doesn’t really want to admit it, but everything he saw was kind of heartwarming. He may have vowed not to get invested in the lives of the other versions of himself, but might still enjoy it when things go well for them. Sue him. He doesn’t have much going on right now, and reality hopping has kinda become… fun. 

For the first few minutes, at least. Then his brain does this thing where as much as he definitely doesn’t want it to, it starts over analyzing everything and comparing it to his own personal experiences. He thought he had gotten good at _not_ doing that. But apparently it only took a few more rounds of flares to weaken his resolve. 

The most striking thing about the revolving carousel of realities he toured briefly in his time in the abyss was that it made him question his own relationship with Lance — with _his_ Lance. He shouldn’t say that though. He was never “his,” but Keith’s not sure how else to put it.

His Lance is younger, more chaotic, lacking the hardened demeanor Blue wears and the calm, honest introspection of the Lance at the bar. His Lance makes a show of projecting a nearly obnoxiously cocky confidence, despite an obvious lack of surety in his own value and competence.

Maybe that’s what Keith never understood. He never understood how he’d watch his friend pull them out of dire straits, how Lance would keep the team alive one minute and believe he’s so dispensable the next. It frustrates Keith — to see someone so capable and valiant perceive themselves in a way that was so dissonant with reality. Maybe it’s growing pains. But maybe all Lance needs is someone to remind him of his importance once in a while.

Maybe Keith shouldn’t have left.

He winces. But he can’t help wondering if maybe the reason he and Lance aren’t currently as close as their alternate reality counterparts is that he had up and gone before either of them could really open up. 

Maybe he should do it first. Maybe that’s what’s missing. 

Too bad he’s on a space whale instead of back at the Castle of Lions. 

He grunts, hoisting himself up on his feet and brushing the dust off his suit. He’s not sure where Krolia and his wolf are — he had been taking walk when the flare hit. He decides it’s time to head back to camp, his mother will likely want to talk. Maybe he’ll share something with her, this time. 

Something catches the corner of his eye. It almost looks like a — _shit, not again._ Keith groans, rolling his eyes because of course, _of course_ the fucking abyss wasn’t done for the day. He quickly braces himself, getting down on all fours just in time before the light engulfs him. 

_**3**_  
It’s real dark. He’s not sure which way is up. Seems like he’s walking, but with help. Two figures are supporting him on either side, his arms wrapped around them as he struggles to move forward. _Right._ Hunk and Lance are taking him to their place. It’s more convenient, or something. They also probably don’t know where he lives.

“Ya live fuckin’ far, dickheads.”

Okay, so maybe it’s not the nicest way to address people who are obviously trying to help him. But he’s tired, he’s way too drunk to be standing right now, and he needs a bed stat. 

Someone laughs. “Aw, Keith, I’ll get you some food when we get in.” It’s Hunk. What a nice guy, honestly.

“We’re close!” a voice says, coming from behind them. It’s Katie. Fuck her, she did this. The shots were her idea.

“Don’ wan’ food,” he huffs. He only wants sleep.

“Okay, we’re home, buddy,” a soft voice mumbles in his ear. He feels lanky arms support him as Hunk pulls away and fumbles with his keys. It feels nice. He leans in closer, wrapping his own arms around his companion, burying his face in their neck. 

“Mmmmf,” he mumbles. The arms around him go stiff. 

“Hurry up. He’s gonna smother Lance.”

Lance swallows. Keith feels it against his face. “Uhh, Keith? Buddy? You good?”

“Mfff,” he replies. 

“Uh, alright.”

The door opens, and Lance guides him to the couch. He feels him take off his shoes and remove his jacket as he gets comfortable, leaning his head back on the cushions. 

“Thankss,” he mumbles. 

“I’m gonna get you a bucket or something, just in case,” Lance says after a minute. “‘Kay?”

“‘M fine. Can, uh, can you stay a sec?” Keith looks at him with heavily lidded eyes. He extends his arms, making grabby motions. 

“Yeah,” Lance takes one of his hands, hesitantly, and sits next to him. He drapes an arm around Keith, who rests his head on his shoulder, his arm around Lance’s waist. “Jeez, man, wouldn’t have pegged you for a cuddly drunk.”

“S’nice,” Keith mutters. “Yer real cool, y’know?”

Lance clears his throat. “Oh, uh, thanks. You too?” It kinda sounds like a question.

“Me too,” Keith mumbles in response. He hears Lance chuckle, feels puffs of air in his hair.

“M’ gonna stay in Hunk’s room,” Katie’s voice travels over from the corner of the apartment. “Night, have fun doin’ yer gay stuff.”

“Wha — HEY!”

“Don’t yell, Lance, we have neighbours.” Keith hears the faint clicking of a door handle. His whole body is heavy, and it’s getting harder to stay awake. 

“Hey, uh, Keith?” Lance whispers, his thumb brushing his arm lightly. 

“Mhm?”

“I’m gonna go to bed, there’s only room for one of us on the couch and I’m pretty spent.” He chuckles lightly. “You sure you’re good?”

“Mm.” He’s already half asleep, he thinks. He feels his body shift until he’s lying down, head resting comfortably on a cushion. He feels a blanket drape over himself. 

“I left a bucket and a glass of water on the ground, kay?”

“Gay,” Keith mutters. He smiles. Heh. Good one. 

Lance snorts. “Okay, night, hotshot.”

“Night, dickhead.”

He can almost see Lance’s soft smile through his barely open lids before he drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a poser and I’ve only completely read one short story by Samuel Delany. His writing is really hard to follow sometimes but it’s worth it when you wanna put in the extra effort. Read [“Time considered as a helix of semi-precious stones”](http://classes.dma.ucla.edu/Fall10/157A/wp-content/uploads/timeDelany_01.pdf) if you want to know where a lot of inspiration came from for Keith’s job in the cyberpunk AU.
> 
> Also, Keith's listening to [ "Call Me Al" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YeYPLhCFrP0) in the second scene.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He offers Lance a hand, pulling him and scooping his legs up without much thought. If he allows himself to think about it, his brain would surely go places again. 
> 
> But of course, because the universe absolutely hates him and wants to see him suffer, Lance wraps his arms gently around Keith’s neck and gazes fondly into his eyes. _We are a good team_ , he hears him say. That’s definitely not helping one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want to take 3 weeks to update, but finals got the better of me. As a “thank you for keeping up with this fic,” here’s a thicc 14k chapter.
> 
> Things get _spicy_ in the final scene. There is some “smut,” but it’s not explicit. If you want to avoid it, skip to the end of the scene after they get on the bed. 
> 
> Also CW for mentions of taxidermy in timeline 4. I figured I’d throw this in just in case. Skip the short paragraph after Red says “That’s new” if you don’t wanna hear about it. 
> 
> Also a “dep” (or dépanneur) is the Québecois term for “convenience store”. The coffee shop AU is set in my hometown, Montréal.
> 
> Things I googled while writing this chapter:  
> \- Can fish swim backwards  
> \- 19th century merchant ship roles  
> \- Does duct tape stick to sweaty skin

_**1**_  
Things were going better than before. It was almost as if Keith and Krolia had gotten over the initial shock and disorientation that came with reality hopping, and were beginning to grow accustomed to it. Which was weird, honestly, because it’s not exactly something that your average person would ever even imagine doing — but here they were, living in an abyss filled with strange and occasionally dangerous creatures on the back of a very large whale with their bioluminescent teleporting puppy, occasionally glimpsing into the lives of alternate versions of themselves in realities they would likely never visit.

Having gotten over the initial shock, Keith started feeling a sort of separation between himself and his alternate selves. As much as they looked like him, sounded like him, and often acted and thought about things in a similar way to himself, he had managed to stay sane enough to regard them as separate beings. He could imagine himself meeting them, two identical-looking people staring at one another. It would be weird, sure, but it was conceivable. It made it harder to actually put himself in their shoes. He didn’t want to wonder what he would do in the same situations, because perhaps they’d make different decisions than he would. They were different people, with different life experiences, living under different circumstances. 

Keith would tell himself this, lying awake at night, stuck on the image of himself clumsily wrapping his arms around Lance on the couch in his last vision, burying his face in his neck. He would try his hardest not to imagine what that would feel like — what it would be like to have Lance wrap his arms around Keith in return. It didn’t matter all that much to him whether it’d be platonic or something else. He’d never done something like that with anyone — Shiro’s hugs were always solid, familial and reassuring, not unlike his dad’s or his mother’s. He’d never exactly known what to do when the other Paladins formed cuddle piles after particularly rough battles or emotional days — he’d mainly just hover on the periphery, allowing the comforting energy to wind him down as well. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ that kind of affection, he just sort of didn’t know how to ask for it. 

The few times he’d been with people in the past, it was never intimate. They didn’t cuddle before or afterward. Sometimes, they didn’t kiss. He didn’t know them all that well — they were mostly just passing figures, a means to an end. But it was good. It was what he needed at the time, and he didn’t have any regrets at all. 

Sometimes, when he’d feel most alone on some nights in the castle ship, listening to the faint hum of the ventilation systems and the occasional snore through the wall she shared with Lance, he’d wonder what it’d be like to go to bed next to another person. To have their heat next to him and maybe the weight of an arm around his body. Keith was used to going to sleep and waking up alone — as if everything started and ended with solitude and the in-between was only a momentary blip. He’d wonder what it would be like to start and end the day with another person, and for time spent apart to be only temporary. 

It’s a wonder why sex is so often referred to as “intimacy.” Nakedness aside, there was little intimate about it in Keith’s experience. Holding someone and burying a face in their neck seemed more intimate. Going to bed and waking up with someone night after night even more still. For a long time, sleeping any way other than alone was a foreign concept.

Things were different in the abyss. Keith went to bed every night on a makeshift mattress of moss and leaves ten feet away from his mother, cuddling a fluffy space wolf. It was nothing like the dry emptiness of his room in the castle ship. But it wasn’t necessarily an adequate substitute for what he’d been craving for so long. It had been good for a while, comforting to know his days would never start or end alone, that he had a mother who loved him, in her own clumsy and occasionally distant way, and a wolf who depended on him. But he’s still find himself thinking about that kind of closeness he’d never experienced in his life — sleeping with a partner, that is. With someone who wasn’t family, or a pet, but someone who _chose_ you to be with. 

It wasn’t only him, though. His alternate selves didn’t have partners to sleep with either. Blue could never spend a whole night with Red. His barista self was single, and no doubt went home to an empty bed. Even his sailor self slept alone — Lance preferring to sleep in the water, like most merfolk apparently. The knowledge that every Keith in each reality he’d been visiting didn’t have the kind of closeness he craved was almost comforting in a way. If one of them did, he’d likely feel a pang of envy. And he wouldn’t know what to do with that.

It wasn’t like a part of him didn’t already envy his alternate selves. They got to see and talk to Lance, and sometimes Pidge, and even Hunk and other people in their daily lives. He wished he could talk to them all, if only for a day. It’d been a long time. 

Despite acknowledging this mild jealousy, he had made the conscious choice not to dwell on the fact that Red and Blue were _together_ — under difficult circumstances sure, but together nonetheless. The fact that Blue didn’t look like Lance made it easier to detach himself. Even though he knew, he didn’t want to think about it. It didn’t change the fact that his Lance was galaxies away, up to god knows what. Instead, he focused his energy on missing his friends. All of them. It was healthier, he reasoned. And it hurt a little less. 

Keith sighs, scratching his wolf behind the ear as he finally closes his eyes, calling it a night. _You’ll see them again_ , Krolia had said. If something didn’t kill them first, obviously, but he hadn’t felt the need to tack that on during their conversation. He rolls over, hugging his fluffy companion and pulling him closer to his chest. His wolf whines slightly, shuffling a little and licking his hand once, before falling still again. And as he listened to his mother’s slow breaths, his hands surrounded by fluff, he could at least appreciate that he didn’t need to wake up alone anymore.

 _ **2**_  
“Okay, I’m gonna let go now, and you walk to me, alright?”

_It’s too far!_

“Lance, I haven’t even let go yet.”

_I learned to stand an HOUR ago, can’t we stop?_

Keith huffs, Lance’s fingers digging into his shoulders, legs shaking lightly. They’re shaking a lot less than when he first stood, a little while prior, before collapsing onto his ass and silently cheering the small victory. It had been cute, honestly. They’d finally made headway after a whole morning of what Lance had regularly started referring to as _leg lessons_. And it surprisingly, it felt really good. Keith felt useful, like he was actually doing something that would help Lance, for a change. He didn’t care anymore that Lance was occasionally whiny, or that he’d complain about falling, because he could see thinly-veiled enjoyment behind his companion’s indignant gasps and frequent complaints. It was like they were bonding, or whatever — Keith hadn’t experienced much of that, in his lifetime. It’s… something. It’s nice. 

“Okay, howabout I don’t let go?” Keith says, levelling his gaze with Lance’s. “How ‘bout you hold my hands, and you try walking forward, and I walk backward.

 _WHAT?_ Lance’s eyebrows fly up in shock. _You can walk BACKWARDS?_

“Uh yeah, Lance, I can walk backwards.”

 _That sounds dangerous!_ Lance’s brows furrow with concern. It’s kinda cute, honestly, that Lance gets all worried about hi — okay, no, he’s not thinking about that right now. Nope. 

“It’s not dangerous. You can, like, swim backwards right? It’s probably the same thing.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. _Why would I swim backwards if I can swim forwards?_

“Wait, you’ve never…” Keith gapes. “What? How?”

 _I’ve never tried it? But merrow don’t swim backward. It wouldn’t make sense._ He looks at Keith as if he’s sprouted antlers.

“Okay, it’s — look, it’s not that weird. Trust me.” Keith purses his lips, noticing that Lance doesn’t seem to be shaking quite so hard anymore. He smirks, lightly. He won’t draw attention to it, but maybe Lance just needed a mild distraction to forget his nervousness. “Look, I’ll do it right now.”

Keith takes a step back, and Lance glances at his feet. “Eyes up here, you gotta look where you want to go.” Lance gulps shifting his gaze back to Keith’s eyes, locking them there. It takes all the effort Keith can muster to not grin stupidly in return. 

_How do I —_

“Like I said before, lift your knee and your foot along with it, and swing your leg forward. You did it before, just make sure your foot lands this time. Kay?”

He nods. _Okay._

Keith takes another step back, pulling Lance along in the same direction. Lance raises his knee robotically, leg bent at an awkward 90-degree angle, and slowly, carefully, swings his lower leg forward. After a couple jerky movements, his foot lands on the flat sand, compacted by its proximity to the water. Lance’s eyes widen, darting back to his foot.

“There! See? You did it!”

Lance’s face twists with glee, beaming at Keith a moment later. _I did it, Keith!_

“Now take one more, bring your other foot to the same spot.”

_But what if —_

“I’ll make sure you don’t fall.” And without thinking, Keith places Lance’s hands on his shoulders, bringing his own to Lance’s hips. He doesn’t look down, knowing that Lance is, y’know, naked and stuff. But the feel of Lance’s hip bones, skin, and muscle under the solid grip of his fingertips is enough to make him blush all the same. _This isn’t the time,_ Keith reminds himself. He has a job to do, and lusting over the merperson he’s teaching how to walk is… probably not gonna help move things along.

“Shift your weight to your front foot and off your back foot, and when you move your body forward, let your back leg follow.”

Lance squints in concentration, bites his lower lip. _Okay, on three?_

“Sure. One —”

_Two —_

“ _Three._ ”

Keith moves back, lightly pulling Lance along with him by the hip. Lance moves forward instinctively, lifting his weight off his back foot and allowing it to drag forward. It’s awkward, but it works. 

“You did it!” 

_WE did it!_ Lance grins animatedly, squeezing Keith’s shoulders. He grins in reply, fingers tightening on Lance’s hips. Their faces are so _close_ together and it does something to Keith, makes him want to move in closer and closer, until maybe their foreheads touch and their noses brush. He doesn’t move, though. In fact, he’s frozen with anticipation, not exactly knowing what’s supposed to come next. He knows what he _wants_ to come next, but that’s… that’s not what they’re doing. It’s not what they _are_. As far as Lance is concerned, Keith’s just a guy he found in the sea who happened to be the first person that didn’t try to kill him on sight. That doesn’t make them anything more than two people stuck together under specific circumstances. Nothing more.

 _Can we try it again?_ Lance prods, halting Keith’s mild crisis in its tracks. Right. They’re walking. That’s all they’re doing.

“Y-yeah, of course.” Keith smiles, taking his hands off Lance’s hips. If they stay there a moment longer, he might just die. “Uh, try it without my help. You can hold on to my shoulders if you want.” 

_Okay._ Lance’s face twists again, all serious concentration. As Keith moves himself backward, he raises his leg again, squeezing his right hand for balance, and plants it down. Keith doesn’t stop moving, silently encouraging him to lift his back leg and bring it to meet the other. Lance jerks to the side at one point, but Keith catches him — one hand on his ribs, the other at his hip once again, and leads him back into place, foot settling next to the other. It was nowhere near perfect, and they’ve still got work to do, but it’s something. Probably more than just something. 

_How did I do?_ Lance cocks his head to the side, bashful.

“You did great. You’re improving really fast.” Keith smiles. And it’s true — he’s not sure how long it typically takes for a grown merperson to learn how to walk, but they’ve only been at this half a day and things seem to be moving along nicely. It’s encouraging. Hopefully by the time Shiro finds them, Lance will be ready to walk on deck with him. “Next time though, try moving your other foot forward. Humans alternate which foot they use first. It’s like… like a fluid motion, one foot after the other. Kind of like how you’d move your tail side to side.”

 _Huh. Okay! That makes sense. I know what you mean._ Lance’s smile falters a little, his hands dropping from Keith’s side after a moment. He falls to the floor, sitting on his bum and spreading his legs out in front of him. _We’ve been doing this for a while and I’m tired now. Can we rest? I miss my tail._ He pouts.

Keith chuckles. “Sure, you did good.”

 _Hey._ Lance raises an eyebrow, mouth twisting into a mischievous smirk. _Can you carry me back to the water?_

Keith’s brain short circuits. He stares blankly at Lance, eyes wide and empty, his throat drying by the second. Was he serious? Keith thought… he thought Lance didn’t like that. He thought he was too proud to ask for that kind of help. But Lance was looking at him now, all bold and roguish, as if he wanted to see Keith trip over himself. And he wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it. Honestly, it seemed like Lance… Like he was…

_Flirting?_

Oh god. That is _definitely_ not gonna help Keith keep his mind on task during their next bout of leg lessons. 

Lance’s confidence falters slightly, worry creeping over his features. _Or not? You don’t have to, I can —_

“No! Yes! I mean, sure, I can, uh, do that.” Keith clears his throat, shakes his head slightly. He offers Lance a hand, pulling him and scooping his legs up without much thought. If he allows himself to think about it, his brain would surely go places again. 

But of course, because the universe absolutely hates him and wants to see him suffer, Lance wraps his arms gently around Keith’s neck and gazes fondly into his eyes. _We are a good team_ , he hears him say. That’s definitely not helping one bit. 

Keith bites his tongue, offering Lance a very strained smile as he unceremoniously plops him back in the water, submerging him completely. When Lance resurfaces, his tail flaps out behind him, waving as if greeting them. 

And the moment is broken. Keith offers to return to rebuild the fire pit for tonight, and Lance says he wants to do a few laps of the island to get his tail back into shape. Apparently, having legs makes his tail all crampy and stiff when it returns. They separate, off to their respective activities, and Keith is relieved. He doesn’t want to dwell too hard on how their session somehow managed to scramble his brain. Lance was a merperson — he wasn’t a human. He was playful, and mischievous, and whiny at times, but there was no way he was actually _flirting_ with Keith. That’s… that’s unlikely. It’s just who he is. They were only partners of circumstance, nothing more. 

At dinner, Keith keeps a careful distance. He picks at his cooked fish across the fire from Lance, watching as his companion violently rips into a raw red snapper with sharp, pointy canine teeth. It’s become a familiar sight — Lance on his back, eating fish like a wild beast, blood trickling down his mouth, hands, and chin, tail swishing gently from side to side. The sight always reminds Keith that Lance isn’t human. That no matter how human he looks when he’s completely naked, sporting long legs, he is and will always be a creature of the sea. 

He’s still hot, though. Fuck it. If Keith had once been unsure of whether he could find a merperson attractive, those doubts fizzled out and died long ago. Lance was nice to look at, tail or no tail, and if that made Keith some sort of xenophile then so be it. It took Keith way too long to accept that he liked boys. Repressing things wasn’t fun, and he’d learned to accept attraction when it took root. Denial had a way of making things creep up on you, amplifying urges that were once manageable. He wasn’t going to go down that road again. This way, it’d be easier. This way, he’d accept his attraction, and move on from it. It’d be a passing thought, like acknowledging the warmth of the fire or the rustle of the wind in the palm trees. The fire was warm, the leaves made noise, and Lance was hot. It didn’t have to be deep. 

Lance burps, taking Keith out of his head and back down to earth. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, thought it does almost nothing to clean up the carnage given his hands are soaked with blood too. He starts joyfully licking his fingers, sometimes spitting on his palm and rubbing his face like a cat. It’s all kind of gross, honestly, and Keith finds himself wondering whether he’s kind of sick for enjoying the sight anyway. Is Lance really _that_ hot? Or is Keith just that weird?

 _Hey Keith?_ he hears projected into his head. He knows it’s Lance, but it’s still weird when he’s spoken to telepathically by someone whose mouth is otherwise occupied. It’s hard to remember that Lance doesn’t exactly need a mouth for speaking.

“Uh, yeah?” Keith decides to keep his eyes on the fish in front of him, knowing from experience that if he lets himself get distracted by his companion at mealtime, his food will go cold. 

_Can you tell me about the crew?_ It still sounds like Lance is licking himself. Keith looks up, cursing his lack of restraint. 

Lance is lapping the blood off his wrists now, looking at Keith from the corner of his eye. _You only mentioned Shiro. Want to know about the rest of the crew._ He stops licking, rolling onto his side and propping his head up in his hand. His chin-length hair is half-wet and matted with sand, and a few bits of dried blood are still sticking to his face and arms. His tail, curled forward in the sand, has adopted a sort of wet, murky sheen that isn’t as noticeable under the sun. It’s somewhere between reptilian and amphibian — dark, slick, and scaled. In the light of the fire and the moon, everything about Lance’s silhouette and face and arms screams _other_. After spending a whole day with him, walking on the beach like a couple of regular guys with legs, it’s strange. It almost scares him. Almost. 

Keith swallows and resumes picking at his fish. “What do you wanna know?”

_Who are they? What are they like?_

He chews, brow furrowing in thought. He was never really one to partake in all the crew bonding, and preferred to work on his own. Being coxswain made that easier, given he spent a large chunk of time in his own boat. But now, in this moment, he found himself mildly regretting the hours he spent alone, avoiding interaction with the group. He wasn’t so sure how to go about it initially, but having met Lance, he realized that making friends didn’t have to be hard at all. 

“There’s Shiro, but you know that already. He’s our captain. And there’s Allura — the boatswain. Her father owns the Red Lion, our ship.”

_What’s she like?_

Keith smirks, gazing at the fire. “She’s really good at her job. She basically delegates work, manages the day-to-day running of things more directly than Shiro does. Women aren’t really allowed to work on merchant vessels, but she never wanted to stay on shore. Since she was the patron’s daughter, she managed anyway. But we’re supposed to keep it secret.”

Lance raises his eyebrows. _Huh, interesting._ He hums. _What’s a ‘woman’? Are they also humans? And why are they not allowed to work on ships?_

“Uhhh,” Keith gapes, definitely _not_ expecting that question. He’s also entirely unsure how to answer it, given he’s definitely no expert. “Do, uh, do merrow have different genders?”

 _Yes,_ Lance nods. _There are mermen, like me and my father and my brother. And there are mermaids like my mother and sister. There are also merfolk, who aren’t mermen or mermaids. Like my sibling Luis._ Lance furrows his brow, counting on his fingers. _There are also some merrow who are mermaids one day and mermen the next, Like my grandparent Leonor._

“Huh,” Keith says, trying to memorize every word coming out of Lance’s mouth. “I guess women are sort of like your mom and sister. They’re human mermaids.” He feels a little ridiculous explaining things this way, but Lance seems to understand. “And maybe you should ask Allura about why there are rules against them working on ships. She would do a better job explaining than I would.”

 _Okay._ Lance smiles. _I will ask her. Who else is there?_

Keith takes a final bite of fish and throws Lance the carcass, as they do every meal. He catches it, not wasting a second before excitedly biting and licking at its cheeks and eyeballs. Their first meal together, Keith had noticeably cringed, but Lance insisted that the eyes and cheek were the best part or something. Keith could not disagree more, but he supposed it meant that they complimented one another.

“There’s also Coran, he’s our quartermaster and scrivener. He navigates the ship, and he can write so he’s responsible for bookkeeping. He’s the oldest crewmember and he has a lot of interesting stories from travelling all over the world. He’s Allura’s godfather.”

 _Interesting_ , Lance projects as he sucks the fish’s bones clean. _I wonder if he’s ever met merrow._

Keith chuckles. “I don’t think so, but I wouldn't be surprised. I think one of his old crew members might have had an encounter with a siren, though.”

Lance shivers in disgust. _Fuck sirens._

“Yeah, fuck ‘em,” Keith replies, grinning. Lance lets out a silent laugh as he tosses what remains of the fish carcass into the fire. 

“Then there are Hunk and Pidge, they’re both shipcarpenters — they keep the ship in good shape. Hunk is also our cook, and Pidge helps Coran with bookkeeping sometimes. They’re about my age, and they’re pretty cool, but I don’t know them that well. And that’s everyone. It’s a pretty small crew.”

 _Huh_. Lance rolls onto his back gazing up at the stars. _Who is your best friend on the ship?_

“Shiro,” Keith says, without a second thought. Shiro’s honestly the only one of them with whom he has an actual relationship. 

_Not what I mean._ Lance gives him a searching look. _You said Shiro raised you. He’s like your older brother. He doesn’t count, then. Who is your best friend on the ship?_

Keith gazes at his feet. In all honesty, he hasn’t made friends with them yet, despite being a part of this crew for years. They doesn’t really know him, because he hasn’t let them in yet. They might consider him family — most crews operated as such. But not friends. 

“I, uh —” Keith runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t really made friends with them yet. I like keeping to myself, and having my own boat makes it easier.”

Lance looks at him, eyebrows downturned. He almost looks disappointed, and Keith feels an ache in his chest, knowing that wasn’t the answer he’d been looking for. _Why do you not want friends?_

“I don’t know,” Keith answers, his voice smaller than it’s been in days. “I — I’ve been on my own a long time. My parents had to leave me when I was young, and I never got along with the other kids at the orphanage.” Keith sighs. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ friends, it’s just — I don’t really know how.”

He stares at the fire, not wanting to see what Lance’s face is doing. But after a moment, he hears the telltale _smack_ of Lance tapping his tail, turning it into a pair of legs. He inhales, sharply, looking up to see Lance clumsily crawling over to Keith’s side of the fire. It takes him a minute or two and a lot of grunting, but he manages. And once he’s at Keith’s side, he places a hand on his shoulder. Keith’s breath hitches. 

_You did it with me._ Lance smiles at him, softly. _If you made friends with me, I’m sure you could do it with the crew._

Keith smiles in return, completely helpless to avoid staring into Lance’s eyes. It’s too easy, with how close their faces are. 

_You’re my best friend, Keith._ His smile falters, eyes widening. Lance’s gaze, however, holds steady. _I’ve only known my family my whole life. I’ve had friends, but we weren’t as close. I’m so happy I met you._

He feels tears welling in his eyes at the sincerity in Lance’s words, written all over his face. Keith never imagined he’d hear someone say that to him. 

“I — you’re my best friend too, Lance.” He grins, eyes wet. Suddenly, Lance brings their foreheads together, a solid hand resting on the back of his head. His other is still placed firmly on his shoulder. Keith can feel the warmth of his breath, can smell the salty tang of his skin. His thoughts are a haze, and before he can make sense of it, Lance pulls back. 

_We are going to get off this island soon, I promise. If Shiro doesn’t come, I will find him._

Keith blinks, smiling slightly. It might be hopelessly optimistic, but it comforts him all the same. He trusts Lance, trusts him with every cell in his body, and he doesn’t let himself worry about where they’ll be in days, or weeks. He lets himself live in this moment, face to face with Lance, bodies illuminated by the fire, and decides to trust that it will work out. Eventually.

 _ **3**_  
“Sooo, are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Keith grunts. He swirls the pitcher of steamed milk in his hand, frowning. It’s a little too thick for a latte. That’s frustrating. He grabs a spoon and starts removing foam from the top of the milk, dumping it into the sink.

“How you an’ Lance got all _cozy_ Sunday night?”

“Huh?” His hand freezes mid-scoop as he turns to face Katie, a single eyebrow raised. “What did I do?”

She grins, leaning her back on the counter. “You were nuzzling him so hard, and when I went to bed you were cuddling on the couch.”

Keith pouts, squinting. “Alright,” he huffs out, shrugging before turning his attention back to the pitcher of steamed milk. He’s determined not to give her the satisfaction of giving a single shit about this. It’s not like he cares all _that_ much that he had been a cuddly drunk while wasted. Honestly, he knows he’s a lightweight, and he’s done more embarrassing things on nights out. He also knows that he’s got the potential to be much more _forward_ , based on his track record. Knowing that he only nuzzled Lance a little before passing out is an honest relief, if anything. 21-year old Keith would have probably offered to suck his dick. 

Besides, he was there to have fun with Katie’s friends, not to get a hookup buddy. Hooking up with one of her friends _and_ a regular customer would be… weird.

“What happened?” She cocks her head. “You were both gone in the morning when I woke up.”

“Nothing happened. He gave me a muffin and I went home. I had to help Shiro with stuff,” Keith says while pouring the milk into a glass of espresso, topping it off with a nearly symmetrical rosetta. He smiles, slightly. He’s been wanting to do one of those all day. 

“Aw, come _on_ , Keith!” Katie sighs in exasperation, rolling her head back. “I was trying to set you up!”

Keith chuckles. “I know.” She’s not exactly subtle, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’s done this. Given how her last attempt had ended disastrously, he thought she’d have given up by now. 

“What happened to you?! I miss slutty Keith!”

“Slutty Keith is retired,” he answers pointedly, turning to the customer in front of the counter. “Latte?” They shoot him a puzzled look before taking their drink and heading to a table.

“What?!” Katie snaps, crossing her arms. “Since when?”

“Since you set me up with that dude Randy Something and he stole Shiro’s Xbox.”

“Ugh!” Katie grabs her hair. “That was one time!”

“I’m just saying, I don’t trust your judgement.” Keith smirks. That was only part of it, though. The other part was that as much as he loved Katie, he didn’t love having her all up in his business. At one point in time, she had accidentally set up her brother with a girl from one of her classes. They ended up dating for two whole years, and Katie became somehow convinced that matchmaking was her calling. Ever since, she’d been a little _too_ interested in Keith’s love life, going out of her way to shop around for guys that might hook up with him. Their first year of college, he kind of appreciated it. But it had gotten old when he found himself subject to a _very_ stern talking-to after Shiro noticed his console was gone, and Keith had found himself out $200 and his dignity.

Not only that, but he was a private person, generally. She had helped him get out of his shell a little, but he ultimately decided that hookups and dating were things he wanted to keep private too. He didn’t invite people to stay the night anymore. And he didn’t hook up with Katie’s “friends.” 

“I’m just saying, you guys seemed to hit it off. Don’t tell me you’re holding off just to spite me.”

Keith groans, running a hand down his face. “I’m not doing this just to spite you,” he mumbles. He _was_ , also, kinda doing it just to spite her. 

“So you’re not interested?”

“Never said that,” he says, before thinking. He tenses, his mouth snapping shut. He furrows his brow before aggressively grabbing a rag and wiping the coffee machine, trying not to look at Katie beaming in the corner of his eye.

“Oh my _god_ Keith, you’re so dumb. You were totally planning on secretly hooking up with him and never telling me.”

“Nope, wasn’t,” he manages through gritted teeth. The thought had crossed his mind, but he definitely wasn’t _planning_ to do so. 

Katie doesn’t care, though. She’s laughing now. “You’re so full of shit.”

“I’m no —”

“Oh fuck, look alive,” she says suddenly, eyeing the door. “Code Lance.”

“What the —”

“HI!” Lance’s voice travels across the room, just as Keith hears the door open.

He eyes Katie, muttering “ _Did you seriously just call it a code L—_ ”

“ _Shut up and trust me, Keith, you’d still be a virgin if I hadn’t —_ ” 

“Uh, hey?” Lance crosses his arms, walking up to the counter, a woman with a wavy bob and glasses at his side. He grins. “Stop fighting in front of my sister.”

“Oh, um, sorry! Hi!” Katie grins, waving. “Veronica, right?”

“That’s me,” she smirks. Keith can see the uncanny resemblance. They’re definitely related.

“V, this is my friend Katie,” Lance says, before cocking an eyebrow, “and Keith, my grumpy barista buddy.”

“Wha — hey!” Keith scowls.

“See?” Lance grins at Veronica, who looks vaguely amused. 

“Nice to meet you both,” she supplies, before turning an eye to the menu. Katie hops over behind the cash, asking her if she needs any help.

“Way to make a first impression, there.” Lance smirks, leaning an outstretched hand against the espresso machine before abruptly hissing, pulling his hand back and cradling it. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Don’t _touch_ the fucking coffee machine, idiot.”

Lance gapes. “Don’t be an _ass_ , Keith, I thought we bonded!”

“I feel like you burn yourself more often than I do, and you don’t even work here.”

“Not my fault this place is a _death trap_!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, can you idiots stop flirting for one second?” Katie snaps from her position behind the register. Lance’s eyes widen in shock, a retort clearly on the top of his tongue before she interrupts him again. “Do you want your usual thing?”

Lance huffs, whatever comeback he had brewing dies out before it could see the light of day. “Yeah, and it’s on me, V,” he adds, shoving his sister away from the counter. “I insist.”

Veronica eyes him, a saccharine smile making its way onto her face. She embraces him from behind, delivering a loud kiss to his cheek. “Thank you _so_ much, _hermanito_ , you’re such a gentleman.”

“Gross, V, get OFF! We’re ADULTS!” he bats her arms, shoving her away from the cash in Keith’s direction. 

She stumbles lightly, unabashedly laughing. Keith shoots her an amused smile. He appreciates that he’s found another person who enjoys getting Lance all irritated and riled up. Keith likes her, he decides.

He starts making her cappuccino and Lance’s fucked up poor excuse for a caffeinated beverage. As much as he’s trying to stay focused and avoid conversation, he can’t help but notice Veronica eyeing him up and down, lips pursed and brow furrowed, almost as if _appraising_ him. It’s a little… weird. He tenses, trying hard to focus on steaming a pitcher of milk — being watched always threatens to throw him off. 

She shoots a quick glance at Lance, who’s talking animatedly with Katie about some obscure 80s mecha anime series, and turns her attention back to Keith. 

“Are you single?”

The steam wand makes an unholy scraping noise as Keith turns it on, having jumped at the sound of her voice. He twists the knob off, before taking a deep breath and turning it back on properly. “Mhm. Why?”

Veronica crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Do you like guys, Keith?”

“Whuh — What the hell?” He scowles, abruptly shutting off the steamer before glaring at her.

“You know, I feel like you’re probably a lot nicer than you let on.” She smiles at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Má would like you.”

“Wha — I don’t —” 

“I’m sorry —” Veronica starts, pursing her lips for a second, eyeing the half-steamed milk in front of her. “I didn’t mean to distract you.” She doesn't seem sorry at all. Keith mentally takes back his earlier assessment, deciding that he does not, in fact, like her. It’s also not because of the teasing, and entirely because he hates wasting 3.8% milk. Call him snooty, or whatever, but he’s sure as hell not serving a coffee with milk that was steamed twice.

Keith scowls, making a show of dumping out the pitcher’s contents in the sink, his eyes locked on Veronica’s. He watches as her face twist from self-assured, to genuinely confused, to somewhat terrified in a few seconds. It feels good. Serves her right. He suppresses a grin.

She swallows. “You, uh, didn’t have to —”

“You distracted me,” he grunts as he preps a new pitcher. “Can’t steam milk in two go’s.”

“Oh.” He hears her inhale sharply, his eyes laser-focused on the task at hand. “I’m sorry… again.”

Keith makes a vague _mrhph_ noise that he hopes is dismissive enough. When she bows her head, resting her back against the counter and taking out her phone, he feels satisfied. He’s no stranger to customers playing mind games with him as he tries to do his job. He doubts many of them know that that’s what they’re doing, but it still applies regardless. Making coffee is a task worthy of undivided attention. But giving it the fixation it deserves requires a hell of a lot of effort, especially when he’s got people trying their hardest to take him out of the _zone_. He knows it’s a little petty, sure, but everyone’s got those things they do when they wanna shut out the world and not have any thoughts at all. Shiro’s got open-world RPGs and carpentry, Katie’s got coding and whatever tinkering she does in her basement at 5 a.m., and he’s got training, drawing and coffee. But again, he’s not gonna let anyone know he enjoys it. 

As Keith finishes steaming Lance’s gross oat shit, he hears the front door open again. His head shoots up instinctively, met with the familiar sight of Shiro, apparently just returning from the gym. He can’t help but smile as he shoots him a wave, making his way over to the counter. 

“Hey, you gonna be around this evening?”

“Yeah, I’m getting off earl —” Keith starts, before noticing that both Veronica _and_ Lance are gaping at them from either side. He doesn’t need to guess why. This happens sometimes, and Keith’s used to it. Being best friends and roommates with one of the city’s hottest bar owners will do that. 

Shiro hadn’t always been a big name. Keith was 15 when he met him, in the alley behind what would become his first paid job. He’d tried and failed to bum a cigarette off Shiro, who he thought had been taking a smoke break. One thing led to another, and somehow Keith snagged a gig dishwashing in the kitchen of the gastropub Shiro had been working at. He didn’t like thinking about it, but if it hadn’t been for that first gig, Keith might have gone down a worse path. Shiro opened his first business when Keith was 19, and had built 2 more since then. And as the city started looking at him as more and more of a _public figure_ , he remained the same to Keith. It was weird at times, but it made him more proud than anything. 

After last year though, Shiro’s fame had skyrocketed. He’d gone missing for twelve days on an ill-fated hiking trip, and the entire city knew about it. He’d been found of course, his arm in bad shape and needing emergency amputation, but he was alive. And when he returned home, business boomed. Shiro’s face was suddenly plastered all over the local papers and news channels, and Keith found himself constantly reminded that the man he considered his to be his brother was no longer just an “ordinary guy” to most people in town. Took some getting used to, is all. But it is what it is.

Keith cleared his throat, eyes shifting to Lance. “Uh, this is my roommate, Shi —”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Lance’s eyes bulge. He claps a hand over his mouth, the tiniest whimper escaping between his fingers.

“And that’s Lance.” 

“Hey, man,” Shiro supplies, ever the diplomat. “Nice to meet you. And hey, Katie.”

“Hi!” she grins, evidently enjoying the sight of Lance absolutely losing all composure. Her brother, Matt, has been Shiro’s right hand and co-owner for years. She’s just as unphased as Keith is.

“You coming tonight?” Shiro raises an eyebrow.

“Can’t, got a project due,” she shrugs, packing Shiro’s usual croissant in a sandwich bag and handing it to him. “Try not to get Matt too sloshed, I don’t wanna miss anything entertaining.”

“I’ll try,” Shiro smiles. He turns to Keith. “Did you end up inviting anyone else to the party?”

“No —” Keith starts, as Lance abruptly unleashes a very loud gasp.

“Keeeeith! You didn’t invite me to your PARTY?”

He stiffens. “It’s not — it’s not _my_ party, it’s Shi —”

“Of course you’re invited,” Shiro interrupts, like a _fucking traitor_. He knows what he’s doing, the asshole. Keith seethes. He’d been fully looking forward to hiding in his room and sketching all night.

“Oh my god, are you —” Lance straightens his back, hands balling in fists. “Are you serious? I’d — I would —”

“We’d love to come,” Veronica slinks next to her brother, locking arms with him. She offers Shiro a hand. “Veronica — I’m Lance’s sister, also a friend of Keith’s.”

Shiro offers her a pleasant smile, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. “The more the merrier. I didn’t realize Keith had so many friends.”

“Wha —”

“I’m gonna head out, but I’ll see you all tonight.” He sends them a two-finger salute and walks out the door, not even glancing back. Keith feels himself stew, skin prickling. Fucking Shiro _would_ weaponize his magnetic charm to ruin his plans to be a hermit. He regretted telling him he thought Lance was sort of hot the morning after they’d gone out on Sunday. Inviting Lance would have been one thing, but his _literal_ sister too? A sick joke. It’s almost brilliant, honestly. Keith regrets ever being associated with that man. 

“Oh my god, V, that just happe —”

Veronica smacks her brother’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me Keith was friends with a famous person?!”

“I didn’t know!” Lance runs a hand through his hair, grinning. He turns to Keith. “Dude. Duuude I had no idea you were roomates with _the_ Takashi Shirogane.”

“Don’t call him that, it’s weird.” Keith shivers. “He’s a person.”

“This is so cool, thank you so _so_ much, dude,” Lance talks over him, vibrating with anticipation. It’s kind of cute, how his arms look like they’ve got a mind of their own when he’s all riled up. Reluctantly, Keith’s finding it harder and harder to stay angry — and it’s definitely not because Lance is grinning like a madman, happier than he’s ever seen him. 

He uncrosses his arms, pushing the coffees forward on the counter. It’s been an eventful few minutes, and Keith feels like he needs to breathe, or something. “I’m gonna take a smoke break. Katie?”

“Gotcha,” she says, winking at him. He chooses to ignore the knowing look she shoots over her shoulder as Lance and Veronica start animatedly discussing what to wear. 

He makes his way through the back store, pushing open the heavy metal door into the alley. He doesn’t actually plan on smoking, Shiro had made him quit years ago. It’s his and Katie’s code for “don’t talk to me, I need a fucking break.” 

He sighs, leaning his head back on the brick wall, eyes closed. Dealing with Katie’s questions was one thing, but knowing that both Shiro _and_ Veronica appeared to have some sort of personal investment in making him squirm was enough to actually bother him. It was enough to make him want to hide out in his room all night, enough to make him regret ever implying to _anyone_ at all that he’d ever thought of Lance in _that_ way. This was why he avoided ever getting involved with anyone who knew Katie or Shiro. Why he preferred sticking to the occasional anonymous Grindr date with someone he’d end up banging once and seeing again later at the dep while grabbing Oreos and Kraft Dinner (It’d happened at least three times. Maybe four. He’s not counting but it’s kind of a Thing). He almost didn’t care that Lance would be coming tonight, and heavily considered throwing common courtesy to the wind and hermiting anyway.

He wouldn’t do that though. It was rude, and as _not down_ as Keith felt, he didn’t want to take it out on Lance — who’d done absolutely nothing wrong. Lance, who seemed entirely oblivious to the swarms of teasing pitched in Keith’s general direction. He wasn’t gonna do that. If anything, being rude would make things even more suspect. 

_Alright_ , he breathes. He’ll just drink a couple beers and call it a night early, after making small talk for a bit. Make enough of an appearance to not be a dickhead, and split when everyone else is tipsy enough not to care. He hoped things would go as planned. He isn’t in the mood for anything else. 

And he definitely isn’t gonna hook up with Lance.

 _ **4**_  
It’s midday, and it’s _hot_. There isn’t a cloud in the sky preventing the sun’s rays from beating down, amplified off every concrete, glass, and steel surface and heating the ground up. Red would much rather be somewhere air-conditioned than at a busy intersection in the light of day, wearing heavy, army-issued camo pants and a massive black sweatshirt, hood pulled up. The ski goggles block out the sun a little, at least, but don’t stop his sweaty bangs from sticking to his forehead. It’s one of those outfits that would look incredibly suspicious anywhere other than here — here being the busiest intersection of the lower city, where Red is sure at least two out of every three people are either involved in illicit dealings, or has been at some point in time. It’s difficult to look suspicious when nearly everyone does. He doesn’t get weird looks, most passers barely acknowledging him at all. 

He’s only got three blocks to go. _Three blocks,_ he keeps reminding himself, feeling the sweat slicking his armpits, his scalp, the back of his neck. He wonders if it really is the outfit that’s causing him to overheat, or the several dozen metal objects taped directly onto his skin underneath it. They’re probably not helping, at the very least.

He’s grateful that Blue is nearly always room-temperature. Sharing a bed with another human in this heat would be a death sentence, but they’ve been managing just fine the past couple weeks. Sometimes Blue turns on the supplemental cooling mechanisms in the body he’s using, and Red lays his head in the crook of his neck, or against the palm of his hand, and relishes in it. It’s weird — not something he would have pegged as an added bonus of having an android partner — but then again, an android partner isn’t something that he thought he’d ever have. 

The light changes, and Red exhales in relief. There are no more stop lights between him and his destination. 

Thinking about Blue is dangerous, especially when walking down the street, in public, on the verge of fucking boiling alive in the damn heat. But it’s happening, and he’s powerless to stop it. That night on the roof had changed things. Things felt even realer now that they had shared where they came from, and shared their real names. Still, the nicknames stuck somehow, had become familiar enough that they feel natural in casual conversation. 

They don’t always use their aliases, however. When they had slept together after that night on the roof, Red had said Blue’s real name while Blue was bent over him biting at his neck, and it was as if some screw had come loose and it _did_ things to both of them, made them reach this higher plane of euphoria that felt as primal and unholy as it did sacred. It was _hot_ and it was _real_ and it felt —

“ _Stop thinking about Blue._ ”

Red stops walking and slowly exhales, his eyelids shut tight.

“Get out of my head.”

“ _It’s kind of my job? To literally be in your head. I am literally speaking to you through a chip that is literally in your head, Red. Literally in your ear._ ”

Red shakes his head, trying to get his mind out of the hole it dug itself into. He decides that lying might work best.

“Wasn’t thinking about Blue,” he mumbles. “For the record.”

“ _Of course you were. You never get that horny over —_ ”

“ _PIDGE._ ” He whispers as loud as possible, sidestepping into a narrow alley. “ _How the fuck —_ ”

“ _Oh my god, Red, I have a live feed of your vitals. I can tell when you’re all hot and bothered, it’s not a big deal. I can tell when you’re hungry or need to piss, too. I’m used to it._ ”

“UGH!”

“ _Keep walking! You’ll be able to yell at me in person soon enough but if you start sweating off all the tape you’re wearing, we’re gonna have bigger problems than my creepy front row seat to your bodily functions._ ”

Red rolls his eyes, despite the fact that there’s no one around him and that he’s wearing a highly reflective ski mask that obscures his eyes completely. Honestly, Pidgeon would probably be able to tell. He hopes she can see him mentally flipping her off as well. 

He leaves the alley, walking as quickly as he can down the sidewalk without risking any parts detaching from his body. He sees the Green Lion’s sign a moment later — a jarring neon lion with a mane of weed leaves. He smirks, feeling his momentary frustration dissipate. He likes visiting Pidge and her brother. As much as he loves jobs with Blue, his biweekly solo visits to the Lion hold a special place in his heart. Atrocious sign and all. 

Pidgeon’s brother Chip is known to Red’s bosses as one of their most “exceptional” clients — a status reserved for only their most reliable and trustworthy customers. It certainly helps that he owns the Lion with Pidge, who’s just as mixed up in this business as Red himself. They’re tried and trusted, and very unlikely to shift their loyalties and double-cross anyone. This is why androids aren’t required to deliver the goods. 

He raises the ski mask to his forehead as he pushes open the door, chimes jingling to signal his arrival. Pidge knows already, obviously, and is ready for him — bulky headphones resting around her neck, laptop pushed aside, grinning at him from her perch behind a glass counter filled with marijuana paraphernalia of all shapes, sizes, and colours. Even though he’s been seeing her regularly for years, he can’t help but notice that Pidge doesn’t quite look like a kid anymore — like he remembers when Black introduced them. It’s been a while since then, and change might be incremental, but it adds up over time. She probably thinks the same thing of him. 

“Hey!” She hops off her stool, rounding the counter and opening her arms. She stops after a moment, shooting him a wry smirk. “Can I hug you or do you still have a boner?”

“Fuck you, Pidge.” Still, he can’t help but smile. He wraps his arms around her small frame. “I still do, but you won’t be able to feel it through the shit taped to me.”

She snorts. “You’re a fucking lunatic, you know that, Red?”

“Likewise.”

They break apart after a moment, still grinning. Pidge turns to a weird, vaguely dog-shaped robot curled in the corner of the room. “Watch the shop, Rover,” she commands as she reaches over and locks the door. Rover beeps in reply. 

Red raises an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

“Yeah! Isn’t he great? Chip and I made him out of spare parts we were gonna throw out.” They make their way behind the counter. “We’re considering putting him inside an actual taxidermied dog.”

Red stops walking. “That’s… kind of fucked up.”

“I know right?”

Pidgeon grins, leans back on the heavy metal door, pushing it open and spinning around. The moment the door opens, the air fills with blaring industrial music and weed fumes as they make their way down a set of dark stairs. It’s familiar — the same as the last week, and the week before that. In a strange way, it feels more like a home to Red than his own apartment. He and Black used to come here when it first opened, nearly five years ago, just to hang out with Chip and Pidge. When his bosses needed someone to carry out their bi-weekly deliveries, Red seized the opportunity. For old time’s sake.

They get to the bottom of the stairs, and are greeted with the sight of Chip, shaggy long hair tied back, wearing a dark muscle tank, joggers, and a pair of magnifying goggles. He’s bent over a client, fiddling with what looks like part of her face. He stands straight when he sees them arrive, and Red notices that the young woman is missing her entire jaw, carbon-fibre panels covering the roof of her mouth. She waves at him from her seat. It’s a pretty neat job, he remarks. Chip’s talented.

“Hey Red!” he greets, before reaching over to some sort of cybernetic contraption, with wires sticking out every which way. It’s probably a jaw, given what he’s already seen, but he can’t really grasp how. 

There are more pressing matters at hand, however. Red steps into the room where he has enough space, and immediately takes the hoodie off over his head, throwing it to the side. “Hey, man,” he replies before he forgets, as he unbuckles his belt and lets it fall to the floor along with the camo pants. He takes the ski goggles off last, somehow having forgotten they were on top of his head, and shakes out his hair, damp with sweat. His body, nearly every inch of it, is covered with metal and carbon-fiber pieces that Pidge and Chip will use to build cybernetic body parts and implants (and maybe a drone or two with the scraps). Every piece is duct-taped to his skin, bands of it wrapping around his limbs and torso. It’s genuinely uncomfortable, and Red is still sweating buckets, but he’s used to it. All in a day’s work. 

Pidge lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Red, I never really got how you manage to pull off stuff like this.”

“It took a while,” Red laughs. “I’m not paid enough for this shit.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “I know. That’s why we’re giving you a bonus that no one needs to know about, alright? I’d rather have you handling our deliveries than anyone else.”

Red smirks. “You guys are too much.”

He raises his arms up, and Pidge is on him immediately, removing the tape (it doesn’t hurt that much, he’s too sweaty for it to hurt) and carefully depositing each piece into an open bin nearby. The bin itself is divided into small labelled compartments, and Pidgeon knows it so well she barely gives it a look as she drops the pieces into their appropriate slots. It takes a solid ten or so minutes, and Pidge never lets him help, so he occupies himself by observing Chip in action. By the time Pidge is on the last few pieces, their client sits up, her new jaw fully installed. She opens and closes it a couple times, before giving Chip a thumbs up and signing “thank you” by bringing a flat hand up to her mouth. 

“Anytime Nikki,” Chip smiles in reply. “I’ll walk you out.”

Nikki stands up, adjusts her skirt, and grabs her purse. She pauses next to Red, and gives his bare arms and torso an obvious once-over. She winks. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t have time to reply before she’s up the stairs and out the door. 

Pidge chuckles. “I swear, seeing you naked is half the reason people come here.”

Red scoffs. “It’s definitely not just me,” he mutters.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you think Chip is hot. Old news.” 

She sits back on her haunches, depositing the final piece into its storage box. Red takes a moment to look down, surveying the damage. Interestingly, his skin isn’t all that irritated. The heat and sweat definitely helped prevent the glue from sticking. He closes his eyes, taking a moment to _really_ savour the feeling of exposing his skin to the air-conditioned room. It’s a major relief. 

“Shit dude,” Chip says, returning to the basement, handing Red a bottle of water. “Someone really went to town on your neck.”

Red claps a hand over the dark, crescent-shaped bruise sitting where his neck meets his left trap. _Ow._ He hisses.

Pidge snickers from where she’s kneeling on the floor. He glares at her. He hasn’t exactly been open with anyone other than her about his… relationship status? If you could call it that? What exactly do you call an arrangement where you’re exclusively banging an android until he disappears? 

He could talk about it with Chip, though. They may not be as close as Pidgeon and himself, but Chip does have more interest and experience in romantic and sexual relationships than his sister. Pidge talks about Red’s love life like it’s some sort of laboratory observation, and while it’s nice to have someone care about him, it leaves something to be desired.

It’s the kind of thing he wishes he could talk to Black about. He was always good at these kind of things. 

He will one day, he’s sure. Black promised that when the time came, they’d talk again. But lately, Red has been finding himself wishing for that day to come quicker.

He looks back down at Pidge, who’s sporting a very obvious “can we tell him” look that Red doesn’t exactly appreciate. But for some odd reason, it tips him over the edge.

“I’m seeing someone,” he blurts. Pidge’s eyes widen, a smile immediately tugging at her mouth. He’s not sure if he’ll regret this. “If you wanna call it that,” he adds.

“Oh, wow! Really?” Chip takes a seat next to his workstation, switching off the music and taking out a rag to wipe down his tools. He seems genuinely happy for Red. That’s honestly… quite nice. 

“Yeah,” Red chuckles. He slips his feet out of the camo pants and pulls up a chair to sit down, taking a long drink of water. He’s chilled in his underwear thousands of times in this basement, and it doesn’t feel weird at all. 

“Oh my god, it’s happening.” Pidge squeals, pulling a stool over and sitting herself down. 

“I’m guessing she knows already?”

“I knew before Red knew, honestly, I had to listen to them pine for _months_ —”

Chip quirks an eyebrow. “Why were you listening?”

“He’s my contact.” Red admits. “He’s the android I share jobs with.”

“Oh,” Chip’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s... that’s a situation.”

Red chuckles, dryly. “Yep. It is.”

Pidge squawks, looking at Red, then Chip, then back at Red. She shakes her head. “No, no, no, Red, I’m not letting you get all broody over this, this is _good_ news and we’re going to gush about it like real adults.”

“Pidge —”

“Don’t ‘Pidge’ me, buddy.” She holds up a finger. “I have literally never seen — or _heard_ you happier than when you’re with him. I know the circumstances kinda stink but if we’re being honest with ourselves, the whole situation is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you. And I’d bet that Blue would say the same thing. Being in love is no joke and you should be grateful, dammit.”

Red stares at her, dumbfounded. He hears Chip chuckle.

“Sooo, you’re in _love_ with your android contact? _That’s_ a fucking situation! Congrats, man.”

“Wha —” Red’s mouth gapes, nostrils flaring, brows scrunching up. “I’m not — I can’t be _in love_ with him, I barely know him outside of —”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Pidge interrupts. “Except you have crazy robot sex every time you hang out and then you cuddle for, like, hours, and talk about your lives and shit. Blue knows your _name_! I don’t even know your name!”

“Oh, snap!” Chip grins, laughing now. “You exchanged names? That’s some trust and commitment right there.” 

Red pouts. He shouldn’t have said a goddamn thing. Should have known better than to —

“Buddy,” Pidge scoots her stool closer to him. “You gotta get out of your head. Just… enjoy it for what it is!”

“But —” he bites his lip. 

“No buts, Red. I love you and everything, I do.” She places a small hand on his, in his lap. “I know he’s not gonna be here forever. I don’t really know him, but I’ve been watching you guys for a while and honestly,” she pushes up her glasses, “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy to drop off the face of the earth and never speak to you again. Things are dicey, sure, but if — _when_ he gets out of this, you’re gonna hear from him.”

Pidge is looking at him with that hardened expression that looks almost out of place on her young features. He knows that expression — it’s one he wears too. It’s a mask borne out of seeing and experiencing things that no young person should. They’ve both been in this business a long time — far too long, by any logical measure. And it’s true that if anyone could ever get through to him, could read him like an open book, it’d be her. 

But the difference between Pidge and himself was that she’s always been able to separate life from the job. She isn’t just Pidgeon — a hacker who coordinates and monitors illicit trade deals. She’s a sister, a friend, a business owner, a 22-year-old woman who dabbles in robotics for fun. She has a name that her brother knows, and probably uses when he’s not around. And unlike Red, she doesn’t dwell on the past. On her parents, exiled from Earth to the outer colonies when she was only a preteen. She never looked at life like mere survival was its only purpose. She may not have been in a situation where she needed to, unlike Red, but she’s still been through a lot. He’d never discount that. 

And that’s why he can’t help but trust that she knows something good when she sees it. 

He leans back in his chair, finally caving and offering her a faint smile that only lasts one, two seconds tops before his anxieties come creeping back. He sighs. 

“What am I supposed to do then?” he says faintly. 

“Easy,” Chip says, all steady and confident. He grins at Pidge before looking back at Red. “You leave this shithole of a city and go after him.”

Red can’t help but smile at his assuredness. It’s something he always admired — envied, almost. Chip barely knows a thing about him and Blue and their _thing_ but he acts like the answer to Red’s question is the simplest one in the world. Maybe it is. Still — 

“I feel like it’ll be harder than just… leaving.”

“It will be. Definitely.” Pidge grins at him dangerously. “Which is why you’re not gonna do it alone.”

“We’ve needed an excuse to leave for a while,” Chip adds. “I love the Lion and everything, but I’d rather work somewhere without all the regulations and bullshit.”

Red blinks, lips parting. _What?_ He had genuinely never even considered —

“And,” Pidge holds up a hand, “before you say something like, ‘no, fuck you guys, don’t do this for me,’ I want you to know we’ve been thinking of this a while. Black gave Chip the deets on how he planned to do it, and we know he’s safe and sound now.”

“Are you —” Red glances between them a moment, processing. It’s a lot. It’s all a lot. He’d toyed with the idea of disappearing before, but had never really, fully considered it. He’d spent a long time building a life for himself with the scraps he’d been given. If he left, he wouldn’t be Red anymore. He’d only be Keith. And he didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. Blue may have lost himself a little over the past seven months, but Red barely knew who he was anymore outside the life he had built around this damn job. He’d reached this point years ago. It was hard to remember anything else. 

He did know some things, though, looking at Pidgeon and Chip. He knows he’s friend to them — that _Keith_ is a friend to them, despite them not knowing his name. He’d been like a brother to Black, too, and he still considered himself as much. And now, despite the circumstances and despite the fucking city that had been handing him shitty curveballs his entire life, he’d fallen in something not unlike love with a man in some chamber, somewhere, piloting a different android body every week. And each of these people saw him for who he was — for who Keith was, not Red. And maybe, after leaving everything behind, he’d have enough of a base to start to build again. 

“Red,” Pidge says, jerking him away from this thoughts. She looks at him like she’s ready to throw hands if he protests. “Part of me loves this city. It’s made me who I am. But I’d also gladly watch it burn for what it’s done to you, and to people like Blue, and to us. We’re too good for this place, Red. It’s about time you realized that.”

“Okay,” he says, without a second’s pause. 

Chip rises, quirking an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Fuck yeah,” Red finds himself saying, grinning wider than he has in a long time. He knows it’ll be a while yet. But they’ll get there. He can feel it. 

_**1**_  
Keith gasps, finding himself on his back by the fire. In an instant, a wet tongue is licking all over his face, whines piercing his ears. He hears his mother laugh as he swats his wolf away, attempting to reorient himself as he sits up, chest heaving. 

“You slept through it,” Krolia says, getting down on one knee to face him. She’s smiling. Her visions must have been nice as well. 

Keith clears his throat and blinks, eyes stiff with sleep. He’d never experienced visions while sleeping before. It was strange — they felt surreal, almost like dreams, but definitely more vivid and real. He racked his brain a little, flattening his hair as he slowly remembers what he saw. It was — it was nice. All of it. Seeing so many familiar faces, seeing _Shiro_ , namely. Feeling supported and loved, even if that support took the form of teasing. It felt so familiar, left his heart fuller than it’s been in a long time. It was great, honestly. He’d never felt this good in the abyss. 

“Keith?” Krolia’s smiling at him wider now, no doubt noticing the happiness on his face. “Did you see something good?”

“Yeah,” he answers, laughing to himself a little. “Yeah, I saw Shiro. And Pidge, and Lance. It was really nice.”

“That’s great,” his mother answers. “Mine were very nice too.” 

They grin at one another a moment, and a thought enters Keith’s head. One he’s surprised he hadn’t thought of before. 

“Do — do you think we’re seeing the same realities?”

Krolia purses her lips. “I’m not sure.” She sits down next to him, crossing her legs. Their wolf trots over, lying down with his face in her lap. “In two of them, I am human. It’s strange.”

“Huh,” Keith answers. It is odd, but he supposes that if Lance can be a merperson in one reality, it would make sense that his mother might not always be Galra. He turns to her. “There’s one where my parents left me orphaned because they were sick. I think you mentioned something like that happening.”

“Yes,” Krolia smiles. “I am human in that one. Perhaps they are the same reality.”

“What are you doing in that one, now?”

Keith looks at the sky in thought, absent-mindedly scratching behind the wolf’s ear. “I just found out you were working on a merchant ship. I had found the orphanage you were taken to, but you were no longer there. I’m trying to find you.” She smiles, looking at him again. “Where are you in that one?”

“I’m stranded on an island with Lance.” He can’t help but laugh. “He’s a merperson, but he can have legs, or something. I’m teaching him how to walk.” 

Krolia raises an eyebrow, smiling wider than usual. She laughs. “That’s certainly interesting.”

“It is,” he grins at her. Sharing feels good. He’s glad they’re doing it. “What about the other one where you’re human?”

She hums, gazing at the wolf. “I’m living on an asteroid in Earth’s solar system. I am involved in organized crime, mostly blackmarket trade. Sometimes I speak to you on Earth through messages encrypted by a friend of yours. In that reality, we were happy during your childhood. But I needed to flee Earth after your father was killed.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. It sounds awfully familiar. “Yeah, I know which one you’re talking about. I’m also a smuggler, Shiro got me into it. He got me off the streets after you had to leave.” He decides he doesn’t want to mention Blue, in the event that she’d start asking questions he wouldn’t know how to answer. 

She chuckles again. “What a good influence, that man.” 

“He really is,” Keith grins. “And the other one?”

Krolia looks at him fondly, before returning her gaze to the wolf. “That one is somewhat similar to our own reality. I am Galra, and I landed on Earth and met your father in the same way. Except it was more North, in a colder climate. Not the desert. I had to leave you when you were a baby to continue fighting Zarkon’s empire and protect you both.”

“Huh,” Keith furrows his brow. He’s not sure this is the same reality as the coffee shop. 

“Zarkon’s empire was overthrown, however, a few decaphoebs after I left. And Altea was never destroyed. But Earth is still on the outskirts of the known universe, and humans are more or less unaware of the existence of aliens. Earth became a popular tourist spot for Alteans, however, given their ability to blend in easily. The humans are unaware of this, of course.”

Keith squints, remembering how Allura and Coran had visited the coffee shop for what was very obviously their first time in such an establishment. “That’s — I think I’ve seen that reality too. I work at a coffee shop, and Allura and Coran visited once.” He laughs. “I could tell they’d never had coffee before. But I don’t believe in aliens in that reality, so I didn’t give it much thought.”

Krolia laughs. “You don’t believe in aliens? And you’re half Galra?”

Keith shrugs, smiling. “I mean, I don’t think I’m able to tell at all. Pidge, Lance, and Hunk were trying to change my mind, though. I wonder if they’ll ever find out they were right.”

They share a smile, before Keith gets up and stretches. “I’ll make breakfast, mom.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh really? Who are you and what have you done with my son?”

He rolls his eyes, his small smile never leaving his face. Thing were good. Very good. He hadn’t expected to feel so at peace with reality hopping, but things appeared to be looking up. 

_**3**_  
“Sorry if this is rude, but, like, how do you even live in an apartment like this on a barista’s salary?” He grins up at Keith, collecting beer bottles off the coffee table. 

Keith shrugs. “We don’t split the rent 50/50, it’s sorta like I’m renting a room. And I do bookkeeping for Shiro, and work his events, so it evens out.” He returns to wiping the countertop.

“Huh, that’s pretty sweet.” 

Keith smiles. “Yeah, it is.”

His plans to avoid socialization derailed completely. From the moment Lance arrived with his sister, he and Keith had been attached at the hip all night. At first, Keith wasn’t sure how he felt about Lance following him around. Until he realized he was doing it out of nervousness — there were quite a few people in the apartment, many of whom were older, coworkers of Shiro’s and other bar owners (whom Katie would often refer to as “real adults”) — and Lance seemed a little overwhelmed. Veronica fit in seamlessly, however, and they didn’t see her at all until she found them to say her goodbyes. 

They ended up gaming with Matt for a while. Shiro had just bought a Switch, and the three of them spent most of the party playing Mario Kart while nursing their beers. They didn’t get all that drunk, given that their competitiveness took over and they seemed to prioritize winning over getting sloshed. But it was fun. Really fun. Keith hadn’t expected his night to go this way, but he’s definitely happy it did. 

Now, everyone had left. Save for Lance. Shiro’s friends had accidentally gotten him absolutely trashed on cheap Tequila, and the two of them had helped Adam bring him to bed. It was clumsy — Shiro was a big guy, no question — but they’d managed with Keith taking his torso and Adam and Lance lifting a leg each. 

Despite the night’s events, and despite how late it was, Keith didn’t really feel like going to bed. Which surprised him. Before the party, all Keith wanted was to retreat into the sanctuary of his room and practice sketching wildlife until his eyes couldn’t stay open. But now that he was here, cleaning up with Lance, he found himself wishing the night wouldn’t end. 

It’s not like he and Lance had any sort of crazy intense bonding moments. They talked a little, gamed a lot, and just enjoyed each other’s company. It was really _easy_ , and comfortable in a way Keith had never really experienced with anyone he hadn’t known a long time. 

“This is the last one,” Lance says, gingerly placing a bottle back into one of the cardboard beer boxes. Keith was also extremely grateful that Lance had stayed to help clean up. He hated cleaning up with Shiro — the man had absolutely no structure or system to how he did it, which was so uncharacteristic of a service industry professional that it annoyed Keith to no end. But Lance didn’t need instruction. He simply helped without being asked, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And it was really nice. 

Keith places the rag on the oven door’s handle. “So,” he starts.

“So,” Lance shifts from foot to foot, gazing around the place. “Guess… I should head out?” 

_No._ Keith thinks immediately. It’s weird, he hadn’t told his brain to do that. But he’s staring at Lance now, knowing his friend is expecting some sort of answer. He swallows. “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.” Lance meets his gaze, offering him a tentative smile. “I’ll, uh, just —” he gestures at the door. It’s so clumsy, but endlessly endearing. Keith chuckles. 

“I’ll, uh, lock it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They make their way to the door, and everything feels suddenly stunted. The air is thick, the weight of unnamed expectations still lingering around them. After such a comfortable night, it’s a strange turn. It doesn’t feel right, Lance leaving like this. But Keith isn’t sure what there is to do about it. If Lance wants to leave, he should leave. That’s all there is to it. Right?

He clears his throat. “How, uh, how’re you getting home?”

Lance bends down, slipping his feet into his sneakers. “Gonna walk. It’s not that far. Like, 15 minutes.”

“Cool.” Lance stands, rolling his shoulders back. He’s looking at Keith now, right at his eyes. “Message me when you get home safe?”

Keith internally cringes. _What the fuck was that? What are you, his mother?_

Lance chuckles lightly, looking at his feet. “Okay, yeah, I will. Bye, man.”

They look at each other again. Exchange a smile. And before Keith can absorb the way Lance’s face softens, he’s turning around and heading out the door. 

Keith lets all the air out of his lungs, not having realized he’d been holding his breath. He reaches forward, turning the lock and rests his head against the door, heart pounding in his chest. _What the fuck?_ he thinks, brow furrowed. _What the fuck what the fuck wha —_

He feels a knock against his head, through the door. His breath hitches, eyes widening at nothing. Another knock. _What?_

He steps back quickly, fumbling with the lock and knob before swinging the door open to find Lance, staring at him stiffly, like a deer caught in headlights. 

Keith doesn’t say anything. He just stares.

“I don’t wanna go home, Keith.” Lance says after a moment, hands balled into fists.

“Then don’t,” Keith finds himself replying. 

Lance relaxes, marginally. He can see his chest heaving slightly with every breath. Their eyes lock together after a moment. “I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to all night.”

 _Oh._ Keith’s eyes widen. His brain does this thing where it implodes on itself, all coherent thought scrambled into nothingness and before he can even try to understand what’s happening, he’s pulling Lance back into the apartment and cradling his face, pushing him against the door, their lips meeting and slotting into place. It’s a little clumsy, and it takes a moment for Lance’s hands to find their footing, but when they do, he’s running his hands up Keith’s back, gripping his shirt and pressing his whole body into him at the waist. It’s good. It’s _so so_ good that Keith doesn’t think about what he’s doing, and presses himself further in, opening his mouth and letting his tongue roll over Lance’s, breaths hitching, faint noises humming between them. 

Keith breaks the kiss after a moment, searching Lance’s gaze through lidded eyes. “My room?” he offers, voice a little thicker than usual, and Lance nods, biting his lip. 

They fumble over, knees knocking against one another, shins meeting table tops and hands accidentally swatting the furniture. At some point, Lance’s denim jacket falls off. When they finally manage to get inside Keith’s room, he gingerly shuts the door to avoid waking Shiro and Adam. When he turns around, Lance is just standing there. In the middle of his room, the collar of his shirt rumpled, hair tousled to one side. And he’s shaking. 

“Are y —”

“I’ve never done… this,” Lance starts, taking a step toward Keith. “I want to. I really do. But I’ve never been with a, y’know, _guy_.”

“Oh,” Keith says. _Right_. 

“Yeah.” Lance wrings his hands. “So you gotta tell me what feels good, okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith swallows. “Okay. Of course.” He takes a tentative step forward. “You can — you can just do what you’d normally do. And we can start there.”

Lance smiles, for the first time since they kissed. It’s a welcome sight. It puts Keith at ease too, lets him relax as well. If only a little bit. 

He doesn’t get much time to appreciate it, because the next thing he knows, Lance surges forward and wraps him in an embrace, kissing him again. This time, though, he feels hands run down his back, down to his bum, coaxing him upward. Keith hops up instinctively and wraps his legs around Lance’s torso, supported in his hands. It’s seamless and practiced. Lance has clearly done _that_ before.

“Nice,” Keith mumbles in his ear.

“I know some things,” Lance pulls back, winking, before turning them around and plopping Keith down on the mattress. He lifts his shirt off and crawls forward between Keith’s legs, settling his weight down on his torso, kissing and nipping up his neck, collarbone to ear. 

Keith’s brain gets all foggy again, lost somewhere in the feel of it all, hands running through hair, down a taut back, and he feels the weight shifting, down and down, until it’s not there anymore. He opens his eyes, looking between his legs at Lance, kneeling, offering him a hand. 

He takes it, and gets pulled forward, his shirt slipped over his head in an instant. Lance kisses him there kneeling between his legs, before pulling back and letting his gaze float over his chest.

Lance’s breath hitches. “Damn, buddy. Sick abs.”

Keith gapes. “Did you — did you just fucking call me ‘ _buddy_ ’?”

Lance grins. “What? What do you want me to call you?”

“Just — I dunno, I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

“Alright, dude.”

“ _Lance, what the f —_ ”

Lance is giggling, wrapping his arms around Keith’s shoulders. He kisses his temple, kisses his ear. “You’re real cute, you know, when you get all annoyed and shit.”

“You’re an asshole,” Keith says, not even trying to sound like he means it.

“Mhm,” Lance nibbles his ear lobe, kissing down his neck, down and down until Keith’s lying on his back and Lance is absolutely going to town on his chest. It’s definitely _not_ something he’s used to, but it’s good, and new, and he didn’t realize nipples could be this sensitive. 

“Holy sh — how are you —”

“You said,” Lance kisses his sternum, “to do what I usually do.” He looks up, flushed. “I like tits, I dunno.” He shrugs. “Is it working?”

“Yes,” Keith breathes, taking a hand behind Lance’s head and pulling him back down to his chest. “It’s working, keep, _ah_ —”

And he does. And with each passing minute, Lance starts venturing lower, and lower, until he pauses at the hem of Keith’s boxers, staring at his bulge with what looks like a combination of intrigue, hunger, and very mild terror. 

“You can take them off,” Keith manages to get out. He really does want him to take them off. 

Lance purses his lips, pulling the boxers down. Keith’s dick flops out, unceremoniously hitting him in the forehead. Keith chuckles. 

“Nice.”

“That’s, uh” Lance is staring at it. He’s just staring at it. And he looks genuinely confused. “That’s a penis.”

“Yes.” Keith furrows his brow. “Yes it is.”

Lance looks up at him. “I’m, uh, just processing.”

“Take your time.” Keith crosses his arms. He’s not annoyed at all, honestly. It’s kind of cute. And he can sympathize. Seeing another person’s dick for the first time is usually weird. He’s been there. Maybe it’d help Lance to know that.

“It’s always weird. The first one you see.”

Lance gulps. “Yeah, it’s like, different. Than mine. But also the same?”

Keith laughs. “I’d like to see yours too, you know. Eventually”

“Oh, right.” Lance looks back at it, pursing his lips in concentration.

“Do you wanna — ”

“Can I blow you?” Lance looks up, eyes wide.

The entire sight, everything all together, causes some connection in Keith’s brain to short circuit. He desperately wants to just shove his face down and get it over with but this is Lance’s first time, and he he’s gonna need a lot of it. _Time_ , that is. To get accustomed, to get comfortable. So he nods his head and places a hand on Lance’s shoulder, squeezing slightly in support. 

He doesn’t do a bad job. It’s not amazing either, but he improves significantly after a few minutes with a little help. But then Lance gets tired, understandably so, and he pulls off and stretches his jaw out a couple times. “Good?”

“Bluh?” Keith responds, eyes half closed. Okay, it was definitely better than “not bad.” But honestly, Lance could probably do anything at this point and his mind would turn to soup.

“Can I eat you out?”

“Hluh?!” Keith squints. “Mhm.” Lance smiles, reaching up and kissing him suddenly before flipping him over and pulling off his pants. Keith does all he can, supports himself on his elbows and knees, but the moment Lance starts, he loses all sense of time and place. It’s a lot, and it’s great and they’re going an going and before Keith can really wrap his head around what’s happening he’s bouncing up and down on Lance’s dick, squeezing a hand over his mouth because he is _not_ letting Shiro know what’s going down in the next room, no matter how hard they’re both falling apart. And it’s honestly kind of nuts, because for the first time ever Keith doesn’t feel as if he’s only chasing after his own pleasure. He feels like they’re a team, like they’re at this together, and that he wants Lance to feel good just as much, even more so than he wants to make himself feel good. He’s not sure what it means. They should probably talk about it at some point, but definitely not now.

When they finish, and Keith flops forward on top of Lance, both gasping for air and looking at one another, he lets himself feel warm and _loved_ and enjoys it. And it’s weird, it’s never happened to him before in his life. But it’s so great. So he smiles, and Lance smiles, and they lazily high-five and miss like two fucking idiots but it’s perfect. And when there’s not much left for them to do, they pass out. In bed. Together.

_**1** _  
_Fuck the universe. Fuck the abyss. Fuck. My. Life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, some fish can swim backwards, some can’t. However, doing so requires them to close their gills, essentially holding their breath because going backwards ruins the natural flow of oxygen through their respiratory system. Sharks can’t swim backwards, and if they do, they die. So don’t pull a shark back by its tail. For the purposes of this fic, Lance never considered swimming backwards because it’s counterproductive to breathing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he looks back at Krolia, she seems wistful, staring back out at the orb looming before them. “We’re almost there, aren’t we?” he mumbles, trying to decipher her expression.
> 
> “Yes,” she breathes. She sounds tired. He probably does too. 
> 
> “I always ended up finding you,” Krolia says after a moment. As cryptic as it seems, Keith knows exactly what she means. It makes sense, in that way where nonsensical things end up making sense after a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: This was a hard chapter to write. Things are going to get angsty, and I'm not exactly used to writing angst so it was all very new for me! That being said, this story will still have four very happy endings. Things just need to get a little worse before they get better. I reread this chapter so many times I figured it would be best to just get it out there before I drive myself crazy. As always, thanks so much for reading this labour of love. It makes me very happy knowing that there are a handful of you looking forward to updates.
> 
> Also, PBP was added to a collection, which is super exciting! [Klance: Into the Multiverse](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Klance_Into_the_Multiverse) is a collection of Klance AU stories with happy endings. Go show its mods some love and read some of the great fics that are also part of it!
> 
> CW: A character shoots himself in the first scene in timeline 4. It's not suicide or self-harm, he's going to be fine and he knows he will be fine. It's just a little shocking to witness.

_**1**_  
Keith is silent at dinner. He sits, eyes wide, face beet red as Krolia cooks a couple meat skewers, occasionally taking short breaks to eye him suspiciously. He pretends not to notice. 

He’s officially had it with the quantum abyss. He doesn’t like knowing what he could be missing out on, thousands of light years away from the team and you-know-who. He only knows that he needs to go back for the sake of his own sanity. And he hopes that when the time finally comes, he’ll be able to keep it together and push all the weird shit to the back of his head and function like a regular person completely oblivious to the going-ons of the alternate realities he’d visited. 

It’ll be hard though. He knows it will be. He’s not sure if anything could ever happen between him and Lance after… _that_. Maybe, if he’d never visited the abyss, things would have developed naturally. 

He doesn’t want to ever talk about this experience. He wants to pretend it never happened, and go back to focusing on the here and the now. Lance would never know, the rest of them would never know, and he’d hopefully be able to go back to a seemingly regular existence. Maybe he’d meet someone, one day far in the future, and they’d be together and they’d be happy and Keith wouldn’t be weighed down by weird cosmic epiphanies and unreasonable expectations. And it would be a normal relationship, and he won’t need to think about what any of it _means_. 

Not that any of what he saw really _meant_ anything. There’s a near-infinite number of alternate realities, and he only happened to see three of them. He couldn’t draw any conclusions based on that — no matter what his mother wanted to believe.

“Are you alright?” He looks up and sees Krolia crouched, absentmindedly turning the skewers, fixing him with a suspiciously neutral expression. 

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head and stands up, fully aware of the stiffness of his movements. He rubs at his arm, obscuring his face behind his fringe. 

In the corner of his eye, Krolia looks forward, toward the center of the abyss where the whale is headed. He looks as well, not really noticing anything new. That strange, ominous dark orb is still fixed in the sky, looking no closer or farther than it had been for almost two years now. Yet, even though that realization didn’t feel exactly promising, Keith suspects they might be close to their destination, whatever it may be. It’s a strange tug somewhere in his gut, and he has no idea where it could be coming from. But it’s still there. 

“We’re close, Keith,” his mom says, as if reading his mind. She’s probably feeling it too. When he looks at her more closely, he notices that she’s smiling faintly in a way that’s only noticeable to practiced eyes. It’s an odd sort of confirmation. They won’t be here forever. 

“We better be,” he adds under his breath. He’s not sure what exactly will happen once he’s faced with his team once again, or whether he’ll ever be able to reintegrate himself. And if that meant never seeing things through in every alternate reality, if it meant never getting an ending, he’d be okay with that. The longer he stays here, the less he feels like he’s living for himself. 

_**2**_  
He’s lying down in the sand on his makeshift bed of palm leaves, staring out at the water. The sky is clear, and the moon reflects clearly off the surface of the water. Keith realizes he hasn’t wanted to swim out into the sea since he drowned. He supposes that’s logical, despite knowing he can hold his own in the water. But the mild fear, the slight apprehension is still there, stopping him from going further than only a few feet deep to bathe. He wonders how he’ll fare when he’s back at sea on the ship once again. _If you ever see the ship again_ , his unwelcome internal voice reminds him. It’s been louder lately. He’s been worrying more. 

It’s been over two weeks, nearly three. And they’ve still seen no sign of Shiro. Lance has started swimming out during the day, hoping to come across something, anything. But they haven’t had any luck. 

His hand tenses, gripping his bedding. It’s frustrating, knowing there isn’t much he could do. He considered building a raft, or a small boat, and paddling off in search of land. He considered giving up on the idea that Shiro would ever come looking for him. But some force at the back of his mind keeps telling him to wait it out, that they haven’t been here nearly long enough. 

The aggravating thing about waiting, though, is that it gets harder every passing day. 

“What if he doesn’t come?” Keith whispers, probably too quiet to be heard properly. 

_He will,_ Lance replies from where he’s standing near the shore, silhouette dark against the illuminated waves. 

_Standing_ , Keith reminds himself. He’d taught Lance how to stand, how to walk. And he barely needed Keith’s help anymore. Still, he can’t exactly run gracefully, and his legs get tired after only a couple hours. But they did it, and Keith can’t help the surge of pride he feels every time he sees Lance move his legs on his own. The lessons had taken up most of their time since they started, and Lance proved to be a remarkably quick learner. But since he stopped needing as much help, Keith’s mind had been more free to wander. And he found himself itching to move forward and return to his life. 

Keith furrows his brow, looking back at the waves. 

“What if they think I’m dead?” Keith asks no one in particular. 

_But you are not dead,_ Lance says, looking at Keith over his shoulder as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

Keith curls inward, wraps his arms around himself. It’s a chilly night, and the idea of being left on this island indefinitely isn’t exactly warming his spirits. The fire is dwindling, but Keith doesn’t feel the urge to get up and rekindle it. 

Lance cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed. He crouches down a moment later and dips his hand in the sea water, before standing and walking over to where Keith is lying down. He sits next to him, legs folded to the side, and touches his thigh with his wet hand. In an instant, his legs are replaced by a tail, his wide fin flapping side to side before settling down on the ground. 

_Are you cold?_

“A little.” Keith doesn’t really have anything to hide at this point. They’ve proven to make a good team, these past couple weeks, and Keith has found it easier to be honest with Lance than to withhold anything from him. He’s not sure what that means, but he knows he’s never felt that way about someone.

Suddenly, he feels a weight on his side. He looks over, and watches Lance delicately wrap him with his fin. He hadn’t realized it would be big enough to cover him almost entirely. It feels heavy and comforting, weighing down to mould into the shape of his body. He looks at Lance, eyes wide as his companion lies beside him, body facing him. Lance smiles, reaching a hand over to cup his face. Keith feels his mouth go dry.

 _You are worried they abandoned you._ Lance’s voice is matter-of-fact, like he can read Keith like a book. He finds himself wondering whether the whole telepathy thing goes both ways.

 _I am,_ he thinks, though he doesn’t say it out loud. He pictures the words clearly, deliberately, thinking of what they would sound like if spoken aloud, in his own voice. And the moment he does, staring into his companion’s eyes, Lance raises an eyebrow.

 _I’m not leaving your side,_ he replies after a moment. He takes his hand from Keith’s face, moving it down to wrap his fingers around his fist, balled on the bed of palms. _I will always come find you. We are family, now._ Keith swears he can feel the fin tighten around his body. 

_They are your family too. Especially Shiro,_ Lance adds. _You have said so yourself. I don’t think he will give up easily._

Lance is staring at him, unblinking. After a moment, Keith hesitantly opens his fist, allowing Lance’s palm to slip against his, fingers entwining. It’s intimate, more so than anything he’s ever done with another person, only aided by the fact that Lance is occupying his entire field of vision, his salty scent filling his nostrils. Keith feels the knot in his stomach loosen.

 _Thank you,_ he thinks, making sure the words are pictured as clearly as possible in his head. He feels Lance squeeze his hand for a moment afterward in response. 

He’s tired, he realizes, and the fin wrapped around his body isn’t exactly helping him stay awake. He allows himself to drift, comforted by the presence of someone at his side. He silently hopes Lance won’t return to the sea to sleep tonight.

 _Don’t worry. I’ll stay,_ Lance replies as if on cue. He feels his hand relax slightly, notices that Lance’s breaths have slowed, deepened. It helps him drift further, until he feels himself slipping away. 

_**4**_  
It was supposed to be the easiest job in the world.

Nothing they hadn't done before. Get in, meet at the bar, avoid drawing attention, make the exchange, wait for Blue to deliver. Red hadn't thought anything of it. 

The bar is full to the brim, probably at max capacity. It's loud, smogged, air thick with heat and noise. The perfect set up for what they needed to do. They've done it dozens of times at this point and nothing had ever gone wrong. 

But then again, Red supposes, there's a first for everything. 

“What do you mean we need to get out?” Red grits between his teeth. 

“ _The place is getting busted, Red, you gotta scram with the goods. There's a vent next to the bar — get in and leave before shit starts going down._ ”

“What the fuck?” Red looks at Blue, whose eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, no doubt hearing the same things on his end. 

“ _It happens. Get in there and get out before the place descends into chaos._ ”

Red bites his lip, scanning for the vent and resting a protective arm over the pack strapped to his chest. He spots it and gets up. He's navigated vents before — sometimes they’re the easiest way to break in unnoticed. He's had to make quick getaways before too, when the wrong person happened to come down the right alley at the wrong time. But bar jobs like these often go off without a hitch — they come in early in the night more often than not, before busts are typically carried out. It’s barely 10 p.m., and this is an anomaly. Red tries not to think too hard about it.

He grabs Blue's hand, still eyeing the vent. “C'mon. Let's get out.”

“I'm not coming with you.” 

“What?” He snaps his head in Blue's direction. Tonight, his body is that of a young man with cherubic features. Compared to the rest of the folks in this dingy, backwater lounge, he looks like the picture of innocence. 

“You need to leave with the stuff,” Blue says after a moment, eyes wide. “I gotta stay back and make sure no one comes after you.”

“What?” Red stops moving, face flush with concern. “Why?”

“Because,” Blue’s gaze is level, steady. “I’m dispensable.”

“ _What_?”

“They can’t lose you, or the goods. That’s why you’ve gotta get out of here.”

“ _He’s right, Red,_ ” Pidge adds over the comm. “ _They’re at the door, you really gotta move right now._ ”

“I’m not leaving you,” Red grits out, tightening his hold on Blue’s hand. Blue chuckles.

“Awfully noble of you, but I’m gonna be fine. I’m not even _here_ , technically. They can do whatever they want to this body and I’ll be a-ok, seriously.” Red flinches, not exactly comforted by the notion that the feds could _do things_ to Blue, android or not. Blue notices this, though, and as if reading his mind he reaches up for Red’s shoulder, bringing him down closer to his face. He smiles, relaxed and contented, as if nothing’s going wrong in the first place. “You gotta get out, though. Things are gonna get dicey any m —”

A sharp _CLANG_ reverberates through the room. Every single patron falls dead silent against the backdrop of low-fi bass pumped out of shitty speakers. 

“ _Get out!_ ”

A couple muffled whispers make their way to Red’s ears. He knows there’s no time, knows this is important. But he can’t move. Something is _wrong_ about this. Blue isn’t dispensable, he shouldn’t be left behind. 

“No,” Red whispers, firm and steady. His grip on Blue’s arm tightens. “I’m not —”

“Look at me,” Blue says, dragging their foreheads together. It’s almost enough to miss how the room starts buzzing with voices, faint but louder and louder. Red tries to tune it out — his face tenses, eyes straining to focus on Blue alone. “I’ll be okay. I won’t let them lay a hand on me, I can take care of myself, alright?”

“But —”

“You need to leave, Red. _Now._ ”

Another _CLANG_. The voices get louder, and the crowd starts moving. Red can feel their panic mounting. 

Blue kisses him for one, two seconds before pulling back. He looks back at his eyes. “I love you, Red. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Red opens his mouth to say something, anything, but before he can get a word out someone screams. Blue spins him around, pushes him in the direction of the vent before he can do anything else. 

The screaming picks up, the banging does as well, and Red finds it harder to get to the vent than he thought. He’s shifting his body, legs moving on their own as if powered by some outside force he can’t control. He’s doing what he needs to do, trying not to think about the magnetic pull straining at his back, attempting to keep him from going forward.

He dislodges the grate swiftly as he’s done many times before, and takes advantage of the mounting panic in the room to slip inside without drawing attention. Once he’s in, he takes care to place it back. 

He tries to ignore the yelling. This time, it’s an authoritative voice yelling orders. He hears another bang, but this time it’s probably from a gun. And then everything gets muddled, and no discernable sounds stand out over the utter chaos ensuing, and Red tries not to think about how someone that he loves is somewhere in there, seeing it all first hand. He tries, but it’s not exactly working. 

He hopes some of the crowd manages to get out. He hopes, by some miracle, that Blue does too. 

“ _That’s it, Red. You’re doing great._ ” Pidgeon’s voice is oddly calming, reminding him that he still has a job to do. That it’s not over yet. The vent ahead bends upward 90 degrees, and he shimmies himself upward, pushing against its sides. When he doesn’t answer her, Pidge asks if he’s okay. He can only grunt in response. 

He makes it to the upper level, keeps moving forward on his forearms. He sees a light further ahead, coming up from beneath. He’s in the ceiling, he realizes. Over the bar, over Blue. And he stops, a mix of care and curiosity getting the better of him, and peers through the grate when he reaches it. 

“ _What are you doin —_ ”

“I need to see him,” he says through gritted teeth. “They won’t find me. But I need to see him, Pidge, please.” He swallows the lump forming in his throat, straining his gaze through what little space he has. He hears her sigh.

“ _You know he’ll be okay. He knows what he’s doing._ ”

“I know. But —” His breath hitches, eyes fixed on Blue, still sitting at the bar. The room is clearing out, most of the crowd pressed at the opposite end, no doubt straining to get out. He hears a booming voice telling them to stop, to freeze, but it seems like no one is listening. Keith can’t see the feds from here. 

Blue gets up and walks over to place himself between the feds and the crowd. He sees his face, neutral as stone, completely unfamiliar. It sends a chill down Red’s spine. He knows Blue can take care of himself. He’s always known that. But he finds himself realizing that he’s never been entirely sure what Blue is really capable of. 

The disembodied voices yell at him not to move, or they’ll shoot. He moves anyway, reaching into his boot and taking out a pistol of his own in the blink of an eye, dodging their shots expertly, drawing the fire away from the crowd. _He’s buying them more time_ , Red realizes, and he feels his heart swell. It does nothing to ease the anxiety though, as he watches Blue slip behind the bar for cover, and sees armed bodies dressed in black enter his field of vision as they crowd around him. The crowd is quieter now — its voices are still there, but more distant than before. 

Blue waits one second, two seconds, before standing up and sending two shots into the room. He misses, but Red knows it's on purpose. It’s a distraction. 

The crowd feels especially distant now, and every gun in the room is pointed at Blue. But before they can take a shot at him, before they can do anything, Blue flips his gun around and pulls the trigger on himself. On his own head. Red chokes, fingers gripping the grate as he sees the bright teal of Blue’s eyes fade to nothing as his empty shell of a body falls limply to the floor, a pile of synthetic flesh, nuts, bolts and wires. _It’s not him,_ Red reminds himself. _Not him, not him_ he keeps thinking as he his eyes become hot, sore and wet. And as he feels the first tear streaking down his cheek, he realizes that Pidgeon’s been yelling at him the whole time. 

“— _still come after you Red! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!_ ”

He closes his eyes, bites back a sob threatening to escape his throat as he’s moving again, this time focusing on Pidge’s words, allowing them to drive him forward. Somehow, before he knows it, he reaches the vent leading outside and blows it open with a boot. He finds himself in a dark alley, hearing panicked voices behind him as he runs as fast as he can, one arm clutching the pack at his chest. He’s done it. They’ve done it.

Red doesn’t need help to navigate the alleys. He stays away from the main roads, preferring to move in the shadows until he’s certain he’s not being followed. 

“ _You’re good, you did it._ ” Pidge sounds like she’s smiling. Like she’s relieved.

He doesn’t answer, though, and instead leans against a wall to catch his breath. He closes his eyes, trying not to think about how cold Blue looked, how empty his face was right before he did it. Red knows he’s okay, logically, but it’s still so weird he can’t begin to wrap his head around it. That wasn’t something he ever wanted to see.

“ _You okay_?” She asks him after a moment. He can’t answer, he finds. He’s not entirely sure what to say.

“ _You’re three blocks from the Lion. Bring the goods here, we’ll keep them safe until we pass them off, kay? Then you can go home —_ ” he hears her falter slightly, pausing before adding “ _or you can stay the night with us, Red. If you need it._ ”

Red sighs, opening his eyes again, staring at his feet. He waits a moment, for his head to be clear enough. “Alright.”

“ _Get over here, buddy. I can tell you need a shoulder._ ”

“Okay,” Red adds, finally. And he’s moving again.

 _ **3**_  
It’s been a slow day. They’ve had barely a handful of customers since the morning, and Keith is itching for something to do. He’s already wiped the machine several times, cleaned all the glasses, and stamped the last batch of coffee cups. It’s not ideal. Being busy would be welcome right about now. It would help him get his mind off things.

It's been four days since Lance stayed over. They had both woken up at the same time, light pouring through the window. Lance had looked beautiful, lying in Keith’s own bed, eyes half-lidded with sleep. He’d smiled the moment he realized Keith was awake. But before they could take advantage of their morning together, Lance had been summoned by his mother for a “family meeting” of sorts. He didn’t seem all that concerned, taking his time to put on his clothes and joke a little. It’d helped Keith put his mind at ease. An annoying, irrational part of his brain worried that Lance might regret things when the sun came up. But if Lance’s demeanor that morning was anything to go by, he didn’t seem at all remorseful. 

When they stood by the door saying their goodbyes, that annoying voice at the back of his mind had come to the forefront. He’d worried his lip, hesitantly asking Lance if he’d had a good night. Lance had smiled, waiting a second before leaning in and pressing his lips against Keith’s, a hand coming up to cup the back of his head. “It was great,” Lance had said. “I’d like to see you again soon.”

That was the last Keith heard from him. Until this morning. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what the etiquette was for texting after spending the night together. Especially someone that he actually _wanted_ to see again. Keith wasn’t a big texter in general, and he figured that he’d end up seeing Lance at the cafe anyway, since he showed up nearly every day. But he hadn’t come in at all since.

Keith leaned against the counter, back toward the room. He reached for his phone, looking at his messages for what was probably the fifth time since he felt his phone buzz earlier. 

L  
You working today?

K  
Yeah until 4  
_Seen 11:48 a.m._

He bites his lip, reading them again over and over. He knew it was irrational to jump to conclusions, but his mind had wandered there anyway. Something feels _off_ in a way that Keith can’t quite put a finger on. He’s not entirely sure if he wants Lance to come in, or if he’s dreading it. 

“Um, hi?”

Keith snaps his head up to see Katie, leaning against the counter next to him, arms crossed. She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve barely said anything all day. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he replies, a little too quickly. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and crosses his arms.

Katie purses her lips, eyes narrowing. “Did something happen with Lance? I haven’t seen him here in a few days.”

“No.” Keith huffs, pushing himself off the counter and grabbing the rag at his side. He wets it in the sink, wrings it out, and starts wiping down the counter for what’s probably the tenth time since the morning.

“Keith,” Katie says, exasperated. “You can talk to me, you know. I won’t go and blab to anyone if you don’t want me to.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s obviously _not_ fine! Why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing _what_?” he grits out, pausing his wiping to glare at her. 

Her hardened expression falters, eyes widening. She looks at her shoes a moment and sighs. “You’re my friend, Keith, okay? One of my best friends, honestly.” She looks up at him, her gaze soft. “I don’t exactly know what I am to you, though. Friends are allowed to care about each other, but you always get mad at me when I’m worried. I’ve known you for a while, and sometimes I feel like we’re on the same page, but then you do shit like this.”

Keith tenses, turning his attention to the rag in his hand. He squeezes it once, twice, before abandoning it on the counter and crossing his arms, leaning back once again. 

“You’re a private person, I get it,” she adds. “But I get worried, sometimes. It’s not always healthy to be so in your head all the time.” She looks over her shoulder at the empty shop. She shakes her head, turning to him once again, her gaze meeting his. 

“I’m sorry if you don’t trust me because of the teasing, or whatever. But I’m here if you need anything. You don’t need to go through everything alone.”

Keith looks at his feet. He knows she’s right. And honestly, he’s wanted to talk to someone about it ever since it happened. He’s slept with people before, but this felt different. It _was_ different. 

“We has sex the other night. After Shiro’s party,” Keith says before he can think too hard about it. He looks at her, attempting to gauge her reaction. She only raises her eyebrows, and nods. 

“And?”

“And I didn’t hear from him since he left the morning after. But he texted me earlier and asked if I work today.”

Katie humms, lips pressed in a line. “Did you try texting him at all?”

“No. I kinda thought about it, but I figured I’d just see him here.”

“And he hasn’t come in since?”

“Nope.”

Katie furrows her brow. “Do you want it to happen again?”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek, fiddling with the elastic around his wrist. “Yeah,” he answers after a moment. “He also seemed like he wanted it to. He said so before he left.”

“Maybe you should tell him, then? He might just be overanalyzing things. He hasn’t heard from you, either.”

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Maybe.”

“It doesn’t need to be complicated, Keith. Being honest is easier in the long run. It’s better than guessing.”

“Yeah.” 

“Maybe he asked if you were working cause he wants to come see you?”

“Maybe.” Keith furrows his brow, that nagging voice still at the back of his mind, albeit a little quieter. “Thanks, though,” he adds, looking up at Katie again. “For listening.”

“Anytime.” She smiles at him, reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. He smiles back, though he’s not convinced it reaches his eyes. He has a feeling he’ll only be able to rest once he hears what Lance has to say.

The day doesn’t exactly pick up after that. Keith lets himself feel slightly comforted, but he’s not entirely relaxed. Things get better as the minutes drag on, but the moment he hears the door open and sees Lance walk in, his stomach drops instantly. 

Lance doesn’t look happy. He has a habit of wearing his emotions on his sleeve — it’s something Keith’s always found endearing, especially given how Lance is often vibrant and enthusiastic by default. Something is different, now. He’s slouching slightly, one hand tensed around the strap of his backpack, and he waits until the last possible second to look up at Keith. When their eyes meet, Keith feels pressure build in his chest clenching around his heart. He’s not sure he’s prepared for what’s going to come next.

“Hey, man,” Lance says, weakly. He offers him a strained smile. 

“Hi,” Keith answers. He glances at the clock on the wall, and notices it reads 15:56 p.m. When he looks at Katie, she just nods.

“Can we talk?” Lance asks when Keith meets his gaze once again. He nods in response, but doesn’t smile back. Something’s stopping him from doing so.

He gestures at Lance to follow him. It’s stilted, awkward, but he doesn’t know what else to do — it’s not like he has any fucking clue what’s about to happen. Their walk into the back of the store is clouded in heavy silence, weighing on Keith’s shoulders like a ton of bricks. He grabs a couple milk crates from the coat room, and ushers Lance through the side door, into the alley.

When they sit, he takes a moment to collect himself. It seems like Lance is doing the same thing, taking a deep breath and attempting to sit straighter, eyes looking off into nothing. Keith tries to calm the growing tension in his chest but before he can manage, Lance is looking at him. And speaking.

“I’m moving to Cuba. In two weeks.”

Keith’s eyes widen, body tensing.

_What?_

“It’s — it’s complicated. But also not, I dunno.” Lance cracks his knuckles, uncrosses and re-crosses his legs, unable to sit still. He keeps looking at the ground. “It’s just — it’s my Abuela, she’s getting old and she lives alone. We’re trying to move her here but the whole visa thing takes a while. And the other day, after we —” he pauses, inhaling sharply. “I left ‘cause my mom got a call. She fell, and it took the neighbors almost a whole day to find her. She didn’t go out for her evening walk so they checked and —”

He runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m the only one who can go. Marco’s got his family here and Veronica’s got her job and Luis... They don’t trust Luis to deal with it. My parents have too much going with their business and it’s just — I’ve got nothing. I’m graduating, I have no plans. My dad’s cousin got me a job teaching English near my Abuela’s. It’s not gonna be forever it’s just — I can’t tell you how long it’ll be.”

He sighs, looking at Keith finally from the corner or his eye. Keith has no idea what to say in response. There are too many things — too many elements to Lance’s story that he’s trying to piece together to come up with an appropriate answer. It doesn’t seem fair, for Lance to take this weight on his shoulders. Or for him to need to leave so soon. But he’s not sure what exactly _is_ unfair about the whole thing. He thought… he thought they’d have more time. He thought things were only getting started.

None of this makes it out of his mouth though. He just stares, lips slightly parted, watching as Lance seems to tense more and more every passing second. He’s waiting, clearly. He’s waiting for Keith to say something but he just _can’t_ right now because there’s too much he wants to say.

“It meant something, right?” Lance says, after what feels like a minute of silence. His voice cracks on that last word. He’s looking at Keith all steady now, his spirits visibly shrinking. “What we did — didn’t it mean something? To you?” Keith opens his mouth again, a hard lump stopping any sound from coming out. He’s panicking, internally, at the sight of Lance breaking open in front of him.

“It meant something to me, okay? I don’t — I don’t know how people can do that with just anyone. I know we don’t know each other _that_ well but I felt like — you’re not — am I just another person to you?”

Lance looks like Keith’s broken his heart before he could even say anything back. He’s not entirely sure what his face is doing right now, but Keith suspects it might be something similar.

“I don’t like being that guy, I never wanted to take it and leave,” Lance says cautiously, voice thick and shaky. “It was never the plan, okay? I just think you should know that. I don’t want to go, but I need to. And I really, _really_ don’t wanna go without hearing what you have to say first.” 

Keith feels pressure build behind his eyes, the lump in his throat unrelenting. He’s not sure talking is his best course of action — he’s never been good at it, and he doesn’t want to make things worse than they already are. But it doesn’t change the fact that Lance is still here, still looking at him so expectantly. He’s gotta do something. He isn’t sure what. 

Lance barks out a laugh — it’s pained, completely devoid of humour. He runs a hand through his hair again, brows tensing. “Fuck, Keith, can you just fucking say something? I’m dying over here, okay?”

He decides not to think at all — it wasn’t doing him any good in the first place. Instinct takes over, and he reaches out and wraps Lance in a stiff hug, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He doesn’t exactly hug people often, and he’s not sure what to do with his arms, but it’s the only thing he can manage right now. Lance is going. He’s is leaving, and it’s not because of Keith or anything he’s done and he can’t change it at all. But he wants to let him know that it’s okay. That it meant something. It always meant something, ever since the beginning. Ever since Keith was rude that first time they met and Lance still talked to him afterward. Since things started wrong but worked themselves out anyway. Things like this never happened to Keith — he was too good at keeping people at arm’s length. But it didn’t work with Lance. He was never bound to keep him away, even if he tried. 

Lance’s arms wrap around his waist, and he feels his head rest in the crook of his neck. Keith slowly, hesitantly, brings a hand up to cup behind his head. He hears a small sniff, muffled by his neck, and squeezes tighter — letting the weight of his arms fall naturally. 

“It did, of course it did,” Keith says, finally. It takes a lot for the words to get out, but they’re there — all his cards, spread out on the table. Lance pulls back, breath hitching. He wipes at his reddening eyes quickly exhaling the tension he’d been holding in his chest. For the first time since he walked through the door, Lance smiles. 

It’s a sad smile. It’s not infectious, it isn’t cheerful or delighted. It doesn’t make Keith want to smile back, but he still does. It doesn’t last long.

“I feel like — ” Lance breathes. “I feel like this might be way too intense of a thing to say to your friend’s friend that you fucked once, but,” he laughs, blushing slightly. “Man, I was really looking forward to getting to know you better.”

Keith feels the tears well up in his eyes, more and more until one gives up and rolls out. 

“You’ll be back,” he says, probably trying to reassure the both of them. “You’ll come back one day, right? We can still — ”

“Yeah, but I don’t know when. And I don’t —” Lance takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I don’t want you to wait for me, or anything. I can’t let that happen, especially when I don’t know how long it’ll take. It’s not fair. To either of us.” He reaches out and takes Keith’s hand in his. “I’m gonna have a lot on my plate over there, and I don’t wanna bore you with any of it. And I don’t really know how much time or energy I’ll have to even keep in touch. I’ve honestly never dealt with anything like this before, but I guess I’m an adult now.” He laughs, this time a little lighter. 

His face drops after a moment, scanning Keith’s face. “Is — is that okay? Are you — you can be mad at me. It’s okay, I’d unders —”

“Lance,” Keith interrupts, his tone a little harsher than intended. “What the fuck?”

“Uh —”

“I’m not mad, are you crazy? You’re — I’m not great at whatever…” he gestures between them “ _this_ is, but no. I’m not mad. How could —” he chokes, voice dying in his throat at the realization that this is an end, of sorts. It’s the end of something that barely started. Something they can’t start, now. 

Lance seems to realize it too.

“That’s… good, I guess.” He furrows his brow. “It still fucking sucks though, right? I mean it —”

“Yeah. Yeah, it fucking sucks.” Keith shoots him a teary smile. At least they’re on the same page. 

Lance’s phone buzzes. He breaks their eye contact, reluctantly, and takes a peek at its screen. He sighs, shoving it back into his pocket and looking at Keith once again.

“I gotta go. I don’t think — I don’t think I can see you again before I leave, I’m sorry. I’ve got exams, and I gotta pack, and we —-”

“It’s okay,” Keith breathes, trying not to let it hurt as much as it does. “Maybe it’ll make things easier.”

“Probably not,” Lance chuckles, wiping his eyes again. “I mean, I don’t fucking know honestly.” He smiles at himself, slightly, looks at Keith in the corner of his eye. “I guess it is what is is.” 

“Yeah.” Keith looks at him, unsure of what comes next. But before he can think too hard about it, Lance turns to him, reaching over and cupping his face in his hand. He kisses him lightly, a short peck and nothing more before standing up and swinging his bag over his shoulder. Their hands are still locked together, hanging between them.

“Thanks, uh, for — just, thanks.” Lance offers him a final, very slight smile. But his eyes are saying a million things at once. “Wish me luck with all the… stuff.”

“You don’t need it,” Keith says, without thinking. “You’ll be great. Your family’s lucky to have you.” 

Lance squeezes his hand for one, two seconds. But then he’s gone walking out of the alley, out onto the street and into the world. Keith lies back against the brick wall, butt sore from sitting on a milk crate for who knows how long, not making any effort to remedy it. He briefly wonders how he’ll tell Katie. Or Shiro. Or whether he will at all. But his worries die after only a moment, when he remembers that Lance is really gone. 

_Man, I was really looking forward to getting to know you better._

Keith was, too. He lets himself care, allowing the floodgates to open.

 _ **2**_  
When he wakes up, he hears yelling. 

He actually _hears_ voices. For the first time in weeks. But he’s still half asleep, and his eyes aren’t exactly open yet. It’s weird, but it’s almost… it sort of sounds like — 

“Shiro?”

Before he can properly open his eyes, someone is shaking him awake. He opens his eyes, squinting at the sunlight, adjusting his vision to see Coran staring at him, looking panicked. 

“Wha—”

“We need to go, my boy. You’re safe now.”

There’s still yelling, it hasn’t stopped. When he turns his head, his eyes widen in horror at the sight of both Shiro and Allura pointing rifles toward the water. They’re pointed at — 

_No._

“Lance!” he cries, trying to get up before falling over himself, into Coran’s arms. Lance is sprawled by the water’s edge, hair matted and disheveled, looking as if someone literally tossed him aside. But his face, his hands, his entire body is tensed as if ready to attack, fingers spread and digging into the sand, tail swishing back and forth. His teeth are bared, his eyes wild — unlike Keith’s ever seen them. He looks _angry_. And he’s making the most unholy, piercing shrieks at Shiro and Allura, clearly telling them to _back off_. 

It changes, however, the moment he sees Keith. When their eyes meet, his face falls instantly, and Keith realizes that his fear must be written plainly on his face. He knows Lance, and he trusts him with his life. But seeing him look like that, looking at _Shiro_ like that — Keith’s not sure what to make of it. 

“Leave him with us! NOW!” It’s Allura this time, cocking her rifle and bringing it closer to her eye. She sounds like she’s on the warpath, and Keith has no doubt she’d shoot to protect him. To protect their crew. He doesn’t doubt that Shiro would too, judging by the hardened mask he’s wearing, and the way his hold on his gun is entirely solid, unwavering. He underestimated Shiro’s willingness to find him. And he was naive enough to think his captain would see Lance as anything other than a threat. 

When he looks at Lance again, he can the fear. He can see the remorse, too, knowing that Lance probably never intended for Keith to see him like that. But before he can think too hard about it, Allura fires a warning shot into the water. The crack of the rifle echoes around them, Lance’s eyes widening in panic. 

When she cocks her gun again, Keith looks at Lance. He swallows, trying to clear his thoughts enough to convey a final message.

_It’s not safe. You need to go._

He sees Lance’s chest heave, slowly, before he looks at Allura and releases a final sharp screech, this one twisted in anguish. 

_Not over,_ Keith hears in his head before Lance dives into the sea and out of sight. 

He stares at that final ripple, the one left in Lance’s wake when his tail went under. He watches it grow wider and wider, until it fades away, consumed by the waves. He keeps staring, long after it’s gone, and barely feels a thing when Coran and Shiro lift him toward the ship because he can barely stand on his own. He hears them vaguely mutter something about “shock,” something about getting him somewhere warm, and before he knows it he’s on the ship in Shiro’s cabin with both a blanket and Shiro’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

His breaths shudder, hair sticking to his wet, clammy forehead as Shiro rubs comforting circles in his back. He tells him he’s okay now. That he’s safe. That he’s home. 

It feels wrong. All of it.

The entire crew spills into the cabin one by one, all of their eyes on Keith. He takes in their faces — all peppered with a mix of hope and concern. Pidge and Hunk are the first to move forward, walking up to the bed and sitting on either side of him. Pidge rests her hand on his thigh as Hunk cups his shoulder and squeezes, slightly. 

“I was so worried, buddy,” Hunks says after a moment, as Shiro pulls back. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“We were scared you died, Keith,” Shiro adds, voice heavy. 

“We decided not to do anything until we checked every island in the area,” Pidge pipes up. “Twice.”

Keith’s chest twists with pained gratitude. Part of him feels incredibly thankful at the lengths they went to save him. But it’s not enough to make him feel okay. 

“It’s just like you said,” Allura steps forward, a warm smile on her face. “When Shiro was gone. You said we would never leave one of our own behind.”

His chest heaves, tension rising in his throat, eyes scanning their faces. When he opens his mouth to say something, the words die on the tip of his tongue, choked out by a faint sob. It’s not _right_ , he keeps thinking. 

“Perhaps,” Coran hums, brow furrowed with concern. “Keith might need a moment to himself. Encounters with sirens can be disorienting, and —”

“He wasn’t a siren,” Keith interrupts, staring at his knees. He’s not sure he wants to see the looks on their faces.

Shiro places a hand on his knee. “Keith —”

“He saved my life.” Keith shakes his head, willing himself to continue. They need to know. Before they make any more assumptions.

“I drowned and I almost died. Lance saved my life — he healed me and brought me to the island. And after that, he spent three weeks with me, making sure I was safe and fed. He tried to find the ship, too. I — I told him you would all accept him. I thought you would.” 

When he looks up, five pairs of eyes are staring at him in various versions of disbelief. Pidge seems concerned. Hunk appears tearful. And Allura — Allura looks incredibly suspicious, as if biting her tongue. Keith realizes he doesn’t care. He wants them to know the whole truth. 

“He’s my friend, and now he’s alone. We were supposed to stay together. We made a promise, just like I did with all of you.”

“Are you sure?” Allura says after a moment, brow raised skeptically. “Sirens can alter your thoughts, make you believe —”

“ _Stop_ ,” Keith seethes. “Do you really think I’d be alive right now if I’d been found by a siren?” Allura bites her tongue, frowning in apology. She nods at him faintly, encouraging him to continue. 

“He can heal people, and he can turn his tail into legs. He can make himself look just like one of us. He didn’t know how to walk at first, but I taught him. I taught him how to walk so he could come with me if we ever found the ship.” Keith's voice wavers slightly, confidence faltering. “He was looking for a new family, and every other human he met treated him like a monster. I thought we’d be different.”

He closes his eyes, shuddering at the thought of Lance alone again, lost all over again. 

“I’m so sorry.” When Keith looks up, he’s met with Shiro’s gaze levelled with his. His eyes are wet. “Keith, I — I wouldn’t have done what I did, had I known. We were only trying to protect you. We thought the worst of him.”

“I’m sorry too, my boy,” Coran adds, stepping forward. “I wish I hadn’t assumed.” Allura doesn’t say anything, but she’s tearing up. He can tell she’s sorry as well. 

Keith sighs, calming his nerves. He can’t bring himself to hold it against Shiro, against any of them. But it doesn’t change anything.

“Do you know where he could have gone?” Pidge asks, her voice hopeful. “We could try to find him.”

“I don’t know,” Keith mumbles. He squints. “Right before he left, he said something like, ‘it’s not over.’ He promised that we’d always find each other.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Maybe we just need to wait?” 

“I don’t know.” He’s not liking the prospect of waiting it out without knowing how long it’ll be. He wishes he knew. But he’s not entirely sure Lance would ever want to join their crew again. 

“Keith,” Allura treads carefully. “Are you sure he said something? Before he left?” She looks puzzled. “It didn’t sound like he was using words.”

“We, uh — we can talk using our thoughts. Telepathically.” Keith swallows. It’s uncomfortable — there’s something about this admission that feels oddly private, like something he wasn’t supposed to share. Having everyone’s wide eyes on him isn’t really helping, either. “It’s how Lance talks. To anyone, I think.” 

The quiet that ensues is near-deafening. Keith winces, regretting ever saying anything at all. They probably think he’s absolutely lost it, and the tears he’s struggling to suppress probably aren’t aiding his case. It all sounds kind of absurd, honestly, and Keith briefly wonders weather Lance was some sort of figment of his imagination, created out of any scraps of a consciousness he had left after drowning. He might just be dead already, the past three weeks some elaborate fever dream that only felt real. 

Shiro’s hand on his knee snaps him out of it. “I — I think you need some time to rest. You’ve been through a lot.” And great, they definitely think he’s gone insane. Maybe he has. He probably has. 

Keith’s face twists uncomfortably. He manages to nod, looking down at his feet, suddenly lacking the energy to maintain eye contact. He’s tired, and thinking is only taking more from him when he hasn’t got much left to give. He closes his eyes as he listens to everyone leave the room, breathing rhythmically in, and out, and in again and reminding himself of how it felt to have Lance’s tail draped over him, of how it felt to hold him and teach him how to walk. 

It was _real_ , it had to be. It was more real that so many things he’s felt in his life, as if everything he was seeing and hearing had suddenly become sharper and clearer these past few weeks. There were only two instances in his entire lifetime when he felt the same way — when he joined Shiro’s crew and started sailing, and when he’d gotten his own boat to steer himself. These were things that felt incredibly natural, as if he were destined for them, and they lit his skin on fire and made it feel good to be awake, to be alive. He couldn’t have dreamt that. It’s not the kind of thing your mind makes up for you.

“Keith?” 

He turns abruptly, thoughts jerked back to the present. Pidge is here, stood alone in the cabin with him. The others have left.

“Yeah?”

“I believe you.” Her stare is unwavering, eyes like daggers. “I don’t know about them, but I’m with you. We’re gonna find him. You’ve been through too much to give up now.”

“What?” He hardly understands. They’re not even — they’re barely even friends, barely really know each other. Why would she — 

“I was there too, when you made us search for Shiro. And I was here when Shiro wouldn’t give up on finding you. You’re all helping me find my family, too. If Lance wants to be a part of this crew, then we need to treat him like one. We don’t leave the people we love behind.”

Keith tenses, heat rushing to his face. “We’re not — I don’t _love_ him —”

“Of course you do.” She smirks, a mischievous glint in her eye. And before Keith can wrap his head around the backflips his stomach is doing, she’s out the door without another word.

 _ **4**_  
Red’s sitting alone in an empty train car noisily creaking its way down the rail. It’s dark outside — the skyline visible, the city beneath reminding him of that one night he took Blue up to the roof. They stayed there for a long time, most of it in silence after Blue told his story. 

Being alone with the city is something familiar to him. They’ve been at odds his entire life, the two of them. But Blue had made it look beautiful to Red, if only for one night. That night, he accepted that this city was just as much a part of himself as his own skin and bones. He was irrevocably changed by it, and now, Blue was too. 

The game had always been rigged, a house of cards stacked against them on the verge of collapse. Red has no idea how to live anywhere else. He’s been watching his back since day one, hoping against hope that when the city finally crumbles it wouldn’t take him down with it. 

He’s made it so far. He’ll make it further until it’s time to leave, if everything doesn’t crash down on him first.

He and Blue hadn’t discussed the whole “what’s gonna happen when this shit is over and done with” thing. Not after the first time, when Blue had said he would reach out when ready. Red figured there was little use bringing it up again, when all they wanted to do was thrive in the present and forget the circumstances that brought them together. It was probably naive, but he didn’t want to spend what little time they had worrying about hypotheticals. He suspected Blue felt the same way.

Still, it left a lot of things unsaid. 

“ _Stop being so dramatic._ ”

Red huffs, rolls his eyes. “I’ve literally not said a single thing.”

“ _Exactly. You’re all quiet and shit. You’re probably thinking too hard, again._ ”

“Fuck off.”

“ _Wow, okay, someone’s hostile. Who shat in your cereal this morning?_ ”

Red huffs, crossing his arms over his front. He slouches further in his seat, not caring that his posture is probably betraying the “successful businessman” persona he’s adopted for the night. He doesn’t care, really. The slacks are uncomfortable, its hems are itchy, and he hates going uptown and navigating wealthy spaces. He can do it seamlessly, obviously, he has a million times before. But he hates feeling so remarkably out of place.

Not to mention, it’s his first job since the incident at the bar. Even though he knows Blue’s android bodies are only temporary homes, his body safe locked up somewhere far away, he still needs some kind of reassurance that he came out of it okay. Red’s been a little testy ever since — not knowing was never a good look on him. 

“ _Your stop, Red._ ”

“You got it.” He stands when the train creaks to a halt, pulling himself up by a pole. His destination is right across the street — a fine dining terrace populated by a dozen patrons wearing clothing that likely costs four times as much as his own rent. He hopes the mediocre, unfitted suit he stole from the local dry-cleaner at four in the morning won’t completely betray his facade. 

He scans their faces, trying to find Blue’s.

“ _Your reservation is under ‘Akira Shinya,’ and — wait. Oh shit._ ”

Red stops in his tracks. “What?” He hears faint typing on the other end. “Pidge?”

“ _Don’t freak out. Please don’t freak out, Red —_ ”

“What’s going on?”

He hears her exhale, clearly upset or frustrated or some combination of the two.

“ _It’s not him. It’s not Blue._ ”  
A beat of silence passes between them. Two.

“What?”

“ _Your contact. It’s not him. He’s apparently been — he’s been _replaced_._”

“How —”

Red’s eyes stop, falling on an android seated alone at a table for two. They look uncomfortable, eyes shifting around as if waiting for someone. Their eyes are bright, nearly neon orange and their hands are clasped together on the table, back straight and eager. Blue doesn’t sit like that. Blue never, ever sat like that. 

It almost feels like melting — how his chest collapses in on itself, how his shoulder slope lower than they ever have in his life. But he can’t stop staring, and can’t bring himself to move forward.

“What happened?” he manages to croak out, barely loud enough for her to hear. 

“ _I’m talking to Sun right now. Blue’s comm guy. Apparently they let him go, right after the last mission. He — he kind of saved their asses._ ”

“I didn’t get to say bye.”

“ _Red —_ ”

“I didn’t —” he chokes up a sob, bringing his hands to his mouth. The tears are blurring his vision now, those damned orange eyes still gleaming in the distance looking so _wrong_ that he doesn't know the first thing to do with himself. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It wasn’t supposed to be so soon. 

“ _Red, listen to me. Listen to me, Red!_ ” He shakes his head, biting down on his tongue. “ _You’re breaking cover. I love you, okay? I love you and I’m so so sorry this is happening but you need to finish this job and then you can come here and you can cry ‘cause I’m not letting you go home to your empty apartment. But you really need to do this. People are nosier here, they pay more attention. You gotta move._ ”

He sniffs, closing his eyes, breathing in and out expertly like he was taught to do in situations that threatened to break his control. It doesn’t make it better, but it’s tolerable — like he can manage to postpone it. And when he open his eyes again, he wills himself to move forward. 

“Okay.”

“ _All good?_ ”

He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and wipes his eyes, blinking. He swallows all of it, and moves forward, finishing the job like he’s done every time. 

It’s only later, when he’s finally letting it out in the basement of the Green Lion, Pidge holding his hand so tight he’s losing feeling in his fingers, that he comes to a decision he’d never thought he’d make. It seems so clear, now, that he can’t imagine doing anything else.

“I hate this place,” he grits out between sobs, one hand half-covering his face. “I hate this fucking planet, I need to leave.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” He looks up, and Pidge is smiling up at him, all sympathy and understanding. This whole time, he thought Blue was all he had. He thought Blue was the one to make this place bearable. But Pidge has been doing it for longer — she’s been holding him together for far longer, and the fact that he didn’t appreciate it sends a scorch of guilt through him. 

He’s not going to take her for granted anymore. They’re going to weather this storm, and he’s going to hold his chin up because doing anything else would only let her down. He’s never deserved a friend like her, but she deserves someone gracious enough to thank her, _really_ thank her and mean it. 

“Gimme a week,” she says. “One week and we’ll high-tail out of here to the nearest asteroid that’ll have us. And when it’s time to find Blue, we’ll do just that.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, sobs dying in his throat. 

“Uh — _what_? Red, are you high?”

“No — no, I just think — I wanna thank you. For everything. And —” his breath hitches, mouth twitching into a small smile. “I love you too.”

Pidge stares at him like he’s grown antlers. She chuckles, finally. “You’re officially losing it, Red. You’ve literally gone insane.”

“I’m — no! I’m not insane,” he says, a little too offended. “I’m _trying_ to be grateful, I dunno.”

“Not gonna lie, buddy,” she says, grinning, “it’s a weird look on you, the ‘sentimentality’ thing. You usually look like a dude who cuts bigger dudes open for spare change, but with all the tears and sniffling you’re honestly kind of cute. Like a wet cat.”

“Wha — what the _fuck_ , Pidge?”

“Hey.” She’s still grinning, still squeezing his hand. He can’t really bring himself to be even a little mad. He feels less sad, too, he realizes. Like he can actually handle it. “It’s Katie, by the way.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Katie, short for Katherine. I just — I thought you should know.” She grins. “You can keep calling me Pidge if you want, though. Chip does all the time. Ever since we were kids.”

“Keith. I’m, uh, Keith,” Red stutters out like a Neanderthal. He cringes internally at his delivery, but it doesn’t change the sincere gratitude on Pidge’s face. _Katie’s_ face. This is only the second time in his life he’s exchanged real names with someone, and it feels incredibly right. They’re family, now. She deserves to know the real him and everything that comes with it.

They smile at each other a minute, all toothy and delirious like a pair of kids sneaking out of their parents’ watch for the first time. Red still kind of wants to be sad — a part of him still is. But sitting here with Pidge, knowing they have a plan is doing all kinds of things to his head. And for the first time in what might be ever, he thinks he might have a future he could look forward to.  
_**1**_  
Waking up this time feels like emerging from a thick, heavy coma. Keith’s limbs are weighed down by fatigue and wear, joints sore as if he ran a marathon. His chest heaves, contracted with a buildup of three realities’ worth of emotion weighing him down even further. That was — he doesn’t even know where to start.

Sitting up feels like moving through thick sludge, his limbs aching with every turn. He puts his head between his knees, trying to calm the pounding in his chest.

He feels numb, after experiencing the whiplash of a thousand different second-hand emotions in the span of probably only a few minutes. It’s too much — it’s soo intense for one person to handle and yet, he finds himself wanting more. He’s invested. He wants to know what happens, if only to quiet the inner voices of his alternate selves and lay them to rest for good. He wants it to be over, so that he can return to prioritizing his own mundane emotions like the greater part of his now 21 years of life. 

“Keith?” He looks up, sees his mother smiling down at him. Behind her, he can see that they’re closer than ever — that it’s only a matter of time. 

When he looks back at Krolia, she seems wistful, staring back out at the orb looming before them. “We’re almost there, aren’t we?” he mumbles, trying to decipher her expression.

“Yes,” she breathes. She sounds tired. He probably does too. 

“I always ended up finding you,” Krolia says after a moment. As cryptic as it seems, Keith knows exactly what she means. It makes sense, in that way where nonsensical things end up making sense after a while. He’s seen it too — Lance, leaving three times. Going away as if pulled by some invisible force that will always be there no matter what, the moment Keith gets too close to him. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He’s not sure how it’ll play out for them — or whether it will at all, given how little he knows about how the universe _really_ works. But it’s going to be hard to face him after all of… this. It’s going to take a lot of poker faces, and watching what he says, so as to not give away too much. 

The truth is, Keith had maybe hoped, just for a moment, that the universe would give him an answer. That despite his unwillingness to believe in anything higher than himself, the abyss might have had the answer to that lingering question he’s had in the back of his mind for so long. But it didn’t. Instead, it only gave him unfinished business — three versions of himself waiting to hear from someone who could easily decide not to be heard from ever again. And it’s unsettling. He’d much rather have seen nothing. A lack of an answer is always better than too many questions than you know what to do with. 

. . .

They arrive the next day. The space whale brings them to the center of the abyss, light swallowing them from all sides — and just like that, it’s the mission all over again. Their weird extended vacation over, they can finally finish what they came here to do. It all happens so fast, probably because their brains were used to quantum abyss hours, but soon things are moving so quickly Keith can barely keep up.

There’s the colony. There’s Romelle, the lab. The big weird genocidal conspiracy. There’s going back — going _home_ — to the castle, only to find that Shiro isn’t Shiro and Lotor had his hands dirty all along. There’s finding Shiro for what feels like the thousandth time, except this time he’s really back. There’s saving the fabric of reality at the cost of the Castle of Lions — which hurt more than expected. 

There’s giving his old clothes to Pidge — they don’t fit him anymore, and she likes wearing oversized t-shirts to sleep. She seems shocked at the gesture, as if she didn’t realize they had the kind of relationship that included sharing clothes. It’s a tell, he realizes. He shoves it down and pretends it doesn’t mean anything. 

There’s Lance, looking at him with an expression he doesn’t even want to start unpacking, because he knows his brain will take things too far. There are moments, on their space road trip back to Earth, where he swears Lance is looking at his body out of the corner of his eye. Sometimes Keith can’t help himself — he lets himself talk to Lance, one-on-one, usually under the guise of some thinly-veiled excuse about “strategy,” or “tactics,” or “consulting his right hand,” and the conversation quickly devolves into questions about what Earth will be like, where they hope to go, how much it will have changed. Sometimes Krolia will catch them, sending Keith a knowing look with just her eyes that makes him abruptly end their “talk” before it can even start. 

There are other times when Lance and Allura talk into the night. They compare notes about their home planets, finding ways in which Alteans and Humans have more in common than not. Lance doesn’t talk about her as much anymore, though, when she’s not around. Not like he used to. Keith’s not sure what that means. 

There’s everyone going space-crazy, and Lance yelling at him for leaving. There’s the two of them, forming the wings together right after. It makes him feel something not unlike hope. 

There’s the return to Earth, the war, the hospital rooms and the departure and watching the sunset with Lance, knowing he’s made his choice. There’s seeing them together, and feeling unhappy. It doesn’t reassure him in the slightest that they seem unhappy too. 

There’s the end, and new beginnings, and the entire resolution feeling extremely unfair. Victory was supposed to be a sweet relief, but Keith can’t imagine anything more unjust. It was like they missed something — something that would have meant Allura could stay. 

Through it all, he still dreamt of the abyss. He still wondered what happened to his other selves, having accepted after some time that he would never know for sure. It’s way at the back of his mind now, like an itch he’d scratch only occasionally, a faint buzzing easily ignored. Nothing about it changed what happened, in his own reality. He decides to focus on the present and keep moving.

There’s rebuilding Daibazaal, and the humanitarian missions, and his new crew of unruly half-galra lesbians apparently keen on disobeying his orders as often as they can for their own entertainment. He still likes them, anyway. They keep him out of his own head. 

There’s Lance, keen, at first, on diplomacy. On helping Coran rebuild Altea, on honoring Allura’s memory. Keen as well on keeping in touch through monthly visits and late-night video calls extending into the early morning, when sometimes it feels like all they were doing was listening to each other breathe, reminding themselves that they were somehow still alive after everything. There’s this odd sense that something’s not right with him, though Keith can’t exactly pinpoint it. As more days and months pass, Lance seems to be dimming more and more. It doesn’t stop Keith from falling harder, faster.

It’s around then when Keith starts questioning whether Lance gave himself enough time to grieve. He himself has grieved, more times than most of them. It’s like breathing at this point — something that comes natural. His own grieving never looked like what Lance did, throwing himself into something new right off the bat. He has a dreadful sense that it will end up catching up with him. 

There’s Pidge, telling Keith she saw Lance at the Garrison spaceport. He hadn’t told anyone he’d be returning to Earth — Keith had to hear it second hand. There’s a single cryptic message about needing a break and not knowing how long, and asking that no one visits. 

There are unanswered calls, and eventually Pidge urges him to stop trying. And Keith bites his tongue even though he’s having a million thoughts at once, realizing that _this_ is what it was, what all those final visions were about. The realization that the abyss had been warning him about exactly this, that it had known this would happen from the start. That maybe a part of himself did too. 

This is how he ends up at Pidge’s place, seated on her floor finally letting himself cry his eyes out over everything. He tells her all of it — about everything he saw, and how awful it feels to be here, on Earth, unable to visit and stuck not knowing. How the other versions of himself had felt this too. Once he’s over the crying part, she laughs a little over how she’d always felt a strange sort of kinship with him, something that made her suspect she would get him most out of all people. That she never understood why he suddenly started trusting her with everything, but she welcomes it all the same. Maybe it was a Kerberos thing — the experience of losing people too soon and being hellbent on finding them again. Maybe it was destiny or some shit. 

This is different though, than those first losses. Lance is different. Disappearing on accident isn’t the same as choosing to disappear, and they both know they can’t just go out there and find him again. She tells him it’s not over, that there’s too much left unsaid for it to be over, but he somehow isn’t convinced. He never had any answers in the first place, and he doesn’t feel any closer now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that wraps up all the quantum abyss stuff! We’re on to act 2, the post-canon part of this fic. I’ll still be telling the story in the same style, with numbered timelines since every AU will still be getting its own ending. Keith’s just unaware of what’s happening in the alternate realities, as of now.
> 
> Also, I live for comments. I love talking to readers, and I love commenting on other people's fics too. Just throwing this in there to let you know that if you want to leave me a message, I will answer and it will definitely make my day. Thanks so much for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m _frustrated_ because apparently, there are three other versions of ME trying to talk you through this shit just like I am now! Do you know how it feels to know that my cosmic purpose is to help you with your relationship problems? I’m a person! With my own shit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting for this chapter! My hand was out of commission for a week after a minor climbing injury, and then I went on vacation. Hope this large 16k chapter makes up for it.
> 
> Also, one thing to note: I know VLD probably wanted us to interpret Allura’s departure as her dying, but honestly, I didn’t read it that way in canon. It seemed like she walked off to another reality, leaving her old life behind. That’s what I went with for this fic — there are no mentions of her dying, only leaving. The characters still think of her as existing somewhere. I’m not going to dwell on it here because it’s not central to the plot, but if you want to read a more in-depth workaround for Allura’s sacrifice, read my previous fic In Plain Sight — Chapter 5 is essentially a fix-it (with a hangover quest thrown in), and I won’t spoil any more than that. 
> 
> ALSO this chapter is best read after listening to [ "Bless the Telephone"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pODdlAnk4-U), one of my favourite songs. Also [ this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNQuA24WDqA) is my favourite cover of the song, also very worth a listen. Enjoy!
> 
> CW for phone sex. There's a buildup, so you'll know when it's gonna happen. Skip the two short paragraphs after "I wish you were here" if you want to avoid it.
> 
> Apologies in advance for the abundance of italics.

_**1**_  
They decide to get tipsy — not drunk, only mildly inebriated. Keith knows it’s not healthy to self-medicate with alcohol but honestly he’s run through these emotions literally four times now and he’s tired, fuck. It was Pidge’s idea, anyway. But she’s a smart person, so it’ll probably be fine. Most likely. 

It only takes twenty minutes though before he’s anxiously spamming Veronica with messages, wanting to know if Lance is at least, y’know, _alive_. Maybe “spamming” is a strong word. He sent like, three, four messages tops. Pidge takes his communicator away after the last one, insisting that this should be a _fun_ evening where they do _fun_ things and avoid their problems like grown-ups. He sighs, giving in.

Halfway through his second drink, he feels his mind start to clear up and senses other more mundane thoughts creeping in. And it’s nice, honestly. To be able to mull over other things that are less emotionally loaded. Stuff like —

“Wait, are you even _allowed_ to drink? You’re not even a legal adu—”

“ _Shut it_ ,” Pidge grits out, eyeing the door as if her parents could barge in any minute. “I’m the Green Paladin, no one cares.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “You’re, like, sixteen.”

“I’m _eighteen_ , Keith, which is legal in most places. Not my fault you aged a full two years more than we did and can’t keep up.”

“We’re literally down the street from where your parents work. They grounded you, like, a month ago.”

“They did _not_.”

“What would they say if they came here?” Keith smirks. 

“They’re not going to! You think Sam and Colleen Holt would be caught dead in a shitty dive bar that serves beer in plastic pitchers?”

“I dunno, I feel like Sam has a wild side.”

“Keith, you did _not_ just say that.”

Keith smirks, taking another sip of the strange Galra spirit he’d gotten used to drinking in his time with the Blade. It had become quite popular on Earth in the time after the war — one of the many alien things that somehow integrated themselves into human society. It was nice, honestly. Keith didn’t really miss the Earth he grew up in. It was lonely and isolating, and always somehow felt that nagging feeling that he didn’t really belong. In his time with the Blades, he didn’t exactly integrate particularly well, either. But since Voltron had landed on Earth that first time a couple years back, the planet had evolved into something new — it was still distinctly human, but peppered with enough alien influence to make a noticeable change. And Keith welcomed it. For the first time, coming back to Earth felt like coming _home_ , in a way his apartment on Daibazaal would never even rival. That was probably why Lance had come back. 

Keith freezes, brows knitting together. 

“Hey? You alright?” Pidge leans over, pushing his arm lightly with her shoulder. “You went all quiet all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just — I think Lance went home. With his family.”

Pidge hums. “Probably. It’s an educated guess.”

Keith feels a little dumb for not thinking of it sooner, for getting worried sick while Lance was most likely just enjoying some much-needed family time. It’s not like he had any sort of proof — for all he knew, Lance could be doing literally anything else. But he liked to think he knew him well enough to have an inkling of where he was, even if he hadn’t heard a thing. 

But why wouldn’t Lance just tell him, then? 

“Because you’d show up, like, immediately,” Pidge says, pushing her glasses further up her nose. 

“What?” Did he say that out loud?

“Yes. Keith, you have no brain to mouth filter when you drink that shit.” She pats him on the shoulder. “Do yourself a favour and have some water before you get the next round, kay?” 

Keith pouts. He looks away, thinking. “Why wouldn’t Lance want me to visit?” It comes out very quiet, making him feel small. He hears Pidge sigh next to him. 

“I dunno. But it’s probably not personal. He didn’t tell me, or Hunk where he was going either. He probably just needs some time.”

Keith huffs, poking at his glass a little.

“Hey,” Pidge shoves his thigh with hers. “Look at me. He’s fine, okay? You said it yourself, he’s probably with his family. Now, can we _please_ have a fun night?”

He smirks, giving in. “What did you have in mind?”

“We’re gonna play some pool with a couple of my coworkers, and you’re gonna _socialize_ like a regular person.”

“Tall order.”

“I know you’ve spent way too much time in the Quantum Abyss or surrounded by Galra assassins to be able to relate to regular people, but it wouldn’t hurt you to try.” She smacks him on the back. “Come on, we’re getting up.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Pidge practically drags him over to where a few people are crowded around the pool table. Like her, they’re still in regulation Garrison scrubs. He feels a little underdressed, despite how genuinely crappy this bar is. If he’s being honest, the past few years felt like a whirlwind of pressed uniforms and motivational speeches, delivered with his signature “leader voice” he’d developed thanks to Shiro’s secret coaching and Allura’s lessons in alien diplomacy. It was strange to move through the world in a leather jacket and jeans, _almost_ a regular person on the ground. It was also strange to think about Allura. He misses her, constantly, hoping she’s happy wherever she is. 

“Keith, this is Penn, Randy, and Asma. We work together.” She gives him a lighthearted push in their direction. He stumbles a little, straightening himself and waving. 

They make their introductions, and Keith soon finds himself in a friendly game of pool. Pidge makes teams — pitting Keith and Randy against Asma and Penn, and places herself on a tall barstool right near them to act as referee. They don’t really need a ref, but Keith suspects it’s just an excuse for her to yell at them and drink more. He’s kinda jealous, honestly. 

“Hey,” Randy says, chalking up his cue. “You wanna talk strategy, or prefer to just wing it?”

“Aren’t we just hitting the balls into the holes?” 

Randy laughs. It’s kind of… nice. He’s got a wide smile, and Keith lets himself get an actual good look at him. He’s tall, kinda skinny and boyish. Kind of good to look at. The alcohol must be doing things to his brain. 

. . .

“I think Randy is hitting on me,” Keith mumbles, pulling a seat next to Pidge while his teammate takes a piss break. 

She smirks. “He probably is. I _may_ have talked you up a little before I found out you were a pining mess.”

Keith scrunches his nose up. “Why?”

“Maybe cause you’re my friend and I thought you’d get along?”

Keith hums. He hasn’t exactly thought of getting involved with anyone that wasn't you-know-who, not since a couple one-night stints when he first joined the Blade. It honestly seems like an absolutely terrible idea, especially now. He’s never really been one for hookups save a couple exceptions, and it seems like the kind of thing that would just rub salt in the wound that is Lance’s absence. He doesn’t say any of this to Pidge, though, not while his mouth is under the influence of weird booze. He finds himself mumbling something else entirely.

“I haven’t seen a human naked since before Voltron.”

Pidge gapes at him, apparently needing a moment to process. It’s fair, honestly, he doesn’t really talk about this stuff. “Okay, does that mean you’re celibate or…”

“Or.”

“Well, alright. You fuck aliens.”

“I’m an alien. It’s been a while, though.”

She looks at him funny, eyebrows raised. “Sorry, I’m just tryna process.”

“Why? It’s not weird.”

“No, I guess it’s not.” Pidge purses her lips, thoughtfully. “What’s it _like_? Is it different?”

“I’m not talking about this.” He gets up, grabbing at his cue.

“What?! YOU brought it up!”

Keith smirks, ignoring her and returning to the table. Their game was barely half over, and he had a sudden desire to focus, his competitive streak kicking in. They were gonna win the match, and Keith was going to maybe suggest getting food to make sure the hangover would be manageable. And then he’d go back to Shiro’s, spend the night, and leave for work tomorrow morning. 

Maybe he’d invite Randy back to Shiro’s. 

Keith shakes his head, aggressively rubbing chalk on the end of his pool cue. _Big mistake. Definitely not,_ he reminds himself for what must be the upteenth time this evening. But this time, a small voice in the back of his head pipes up, telling him that he’s making a big deal out of something small. That he’s allowed to have a _fun_ night, regardless of where his head was at when they first decided to go out. Keith decides not to listen to the voice. He can’t pinpoint it, but some kind of base instinct is telling him to run in the opposite direction. 

“You ready?” 

He turns at the sound of Randy’s voice, raising an eyebrow. He nods.

“Still prefer winging it?”

“Yeah. Let’s do this.” Strategy was never his forte — he preferred to fly by the seat of his pants. It had gotten him this far, he figures. His instincts must count for something.

. . .

Turns out, his instincts definitely knew something he didn’t. 

Keith _did_ hook up with Randy. They politely traded oral favours before going to sleep at a semi-reasonable hour. Overall, it was entirely anticlimactic. Until he woke up the next morning.

“KEITH! WHERE IS MY CONSOLE?”

He jerks out of bed at the sound of Shiro’s booming voice though the door of the guest room. He takes stock of the room, blinking the sleep out of his eyes — his clothes are strewn about the floor, his jacket’s hanging precariously on a chair, and he notes absolutely no sign of Randy. _That’s fine_. It’s not like they had some sort of deep connection, and he probably had to run to work. 

“What?!” he yells back at Shiro, scrambling to put on pants. 

Shiro’s kneeling, rummaging through his TV stand when Keith finally gets to the living room. 

“It’s not here! My console! Everything’s unplugged!” He’s visibly fuming, turning to look at Keith all helpless, hands full of wires. It would almost be funny, honestly, if he weren’t as distraught. 

“I don’t know, I didn’t take it.”

“Curtis and I used it last night before we went to bed, and it’s gone!”

Keith crosses his arms. Could Randy have —

“This is probably the wrong time to say this, but I had a guy over last night.”

Shiro freezes, wires still gripped helplessly in his hands. “What? Who?”

“This guy, Randy Something? He works with Pidge at the Garrison, you might know him. Maybe he —”

Shiro drops the cables and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling. “Keith are you saying you brought a guy home to _my_ house last night and he _might_ have taken my —”

“Yep.” Keith sighs, shoulders dropping. No use sugar-coating it, honestly. 

Shiro just stares at him, completely unimpressed. He feels himself deflating further, dropping to sit down on the couch and rubbing his face in his hands. It is literally too early for this shit. _Also, fuck Randy,_ Keith’s brain adds helpfully. _What a piece of —_

He startles, eyes widening. Suddenly hit with a very serious case of déja vu, he stands up and stares at Shiro. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Shiro exhales. “Keith, I honestly would never have expected this of you. You’ve never done —”

“I gotta talk to Pidge, sorry!” He bolts up, running to the guest room to grab some clothes and his communicator. He decides to leave his bags here, he’ll come back later. 

“I hope you’re talking to her about getting my console back! They’re really hard to come by nowadays!” Shiro yells from the ground floor. “And, no, I don’t know a ‘Randy Something’!”

“Bye Shiro!” Keith yells back, practically sprinting down the stairs and out the door, his jacket only half-on.

. . .

“Are you seriously saying that Randy stole Shiro’s gaming console after you hooked up and that this LITERALLY happened to you before, in an alternate universe?”

“Yes,” Keith replies, his mouth full of breakfast potatoes. They’re sitting in a semi-private nook in the Garrison commissary. He swallows, and takes a sip of coffee, raising one eyebrow as he looks at her.

“What the FUCK, Keith?!” Pidge gapes. Her breakfast remains untouched. 

“Pretty nuts, eh,” he adds, returning to his breakfast. 

“And you literally _ran_ all the way here to tell me that?”

“Well,” he says, putting down his fork and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I also wanted to get you to talk to Randy. Shiro’s pissed. But yes,” he says, looking at his food. “I figured you’d find it… I dunno, _interesting_.”

“Keith,” Pidge starts, knitting her brows together. “Am I the only person who knows about all the shit you saw in the Abyss?”

He chuckles softly. “My mom too, sorta, but I’m not telling her about this.”

She smiles, finally, her grin spreading wider and wider until she’s laughing hard “That’s fucking insane.”

“I know,” he grins. It feels good, kind of like riding a high after the emotional turmoil of the past few days. It’s like telling someone everything and laughing about it is making him take it less seriously, letting him look at it with a different lens. And when he does, he supposes that it wasn’t _all_ bad. 

Except for the part where Lance is gone. Keith suddenly finds himself feeling a little guilty — for getting with someone else, for trusting them and having it thrown back in his face. It leaves him feeling a little sour, kicking himself for making terrible decisions. He pokes at the food on his plate absently, not looking at Pidge.

“Hey, you okay?” She’s looking at him, still a ghost of a smile on her face. “I get it, things have been… intense the past couple days. You’re probably feeling a lot.”

“Yeah, I just — I don’t know. I feel kinda bad—”

“Keith,” Pidge interrupts, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “I don’t think Lance would think anything less of you. Honestly, you’re probably gonna tell him this story eventually, and he’s gonna laugh his ass off even harder than I just did.” She takes a satisfied sip of her coffee. “You know I’m right.”

He smiles at her, laughing lightly. After a moment, he stops. “Wait, you think I should tell him about all the… stuff?”

She sighs, finally starting on her food. “Yes, honestly,” she adds after a moment. “You’re gonna tell him everything, I know you will.”

He scoffs. “Why would I do that?”

“Because, he needs to know.” She looks at him, pointing her fork at his face. “Do you really think Lance wouldn’t want to know he’s a fucking _merman_ in some alternate reality? He would eat that shit up, come on.”

“But — what about the part where we, like —”

“Where you fucked?” Keith cringes. “Keith! You’re in love with him, and there are three other Keiths walking around in love with him too. That’s like — I dunno, that’s nuts! Your love defies the fucking laws of time and space and it’s completely _nauseating_ , honestly! It’s like something out of one of those monogamy propaganda soulmate stories that Hunk loves reading when he thinks we’re not paying attention.”

“Wha,” Keith mouths, trying to process Pidge’s word vomit. “Monogamy prop —”

“Come on!” She drops her utensils, sighing in exasperation. “Know who _else_ loves a good love story? Know who deserves to get swept off his feet for once in his goddamn life?” She aggressively stabs a piece of sausage, pointing it at Keith. “Lance does! Every relationship he’s been in has put him through the wringer. And I don’t just mean Allura and how that ended. Did you know Jenny Shaybon ghosted him after dating him for _four months?_ She got her friend to break up with him for her! Because she was a coward!”

“Wha — why are you telling me this? That was like, years ago.”

“KEITH! I have better things to do than sit here and talk about your feelings! I’m doing it because I love you and apparently our friendship also defies physics or whatever, which is like, fucking weird too, I might add. But I’m getting frustrated!” She puts the sausage in her mouth, closing her eyes to take a break and chew. He just watches, mouth pressed in a fine line waiting for her to continue. She swallows after a moment, and takes a deep breath. “I’m _frustrated_ because apparently, there are three other versions of ME trying to talk you through this shit just like I am now! Do you know how it feels to know that my cosmic purpose is to help you with your relationship problems? I’m a person! With my own shit!”

Keith freezes. He literally hadn’t thought of that. He’d been so wrapped up in his own head that he hadn’t thought to think of it that way. He watches, still, as Pidge deflates and continues munching on her breakfast, apparently relieved to have gotten _that_ out of her system.

“Hey,” he says after a moment. She raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “I’m pretty sure you were looking for your family in one or two of the realities I saw.”

She swallows her food. “Mhm?”

“I have reason to believe you always find them.”

She tilts her head. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sits up straighter. “My mom was always looking for me, in each reality, and said she always found me, in the end.”

“So… what are you saying?”

“I’m _saying_ ,” Keith smirks, “that your ‘cosmic purpose’ isn’t limited to helping me with my love life. That’s only part of it.”

“Well, fuck. Thank the lord.” She grins at him a moment, before sighing and putting down her fork. “That’s all you’re getting from me, by the way.”

“What?”

“Like, I’m not giving you any more advice. That can’t be the basis of our friendship. And I’m retiring from setting you up with people, because apparently I do a shit job in every reality.”

Keith laughs, taking a sip of his coffee. “About that…”

“I’ll talk to Randy and I’ll get Shiro’s console back. I’m technically his boss, so I _can_ fire him if it comes to it. I also have a feeling I know where Asma’s phone went a few months back.”

“Poor dude,” Keith mutters, raising an eyebrow. 

“I'll give him an out, ask him to get help.” Pidge chuckles. “Your life is so fucking weird, Keith, this would literally only happen to you.”

. . .

Keith climbs into his ship at the Garrison spaceport, waving a final goodbye to Shiro. They did end up getting his console back, and Randy was apparently really shaken up. He admitted to Pidge that he had a problem, and will get subsidized therapy sessions with the Garrison. He even apologized to Shiro in person. Keith supposes he isn’t exactly a bad guy, just dealing with his own shit like the rest of them. 

When he sits back in his seat, buckling his belt, he notices a ping on his communicator. Taking it out of his pocket, he nearly has a heart attack when he sees the notification on the screen. 

_Lance - 1 new voice message_

He scrambles, fingers flying way too fast as he fumbles at the screen, trying to open the message. In his haste, he probably takes longer than it would have to calmly swipe the message open. 

“ _Hey buddy,_ ” is the first thing he hears out of his device. He grips the phone, looking at it as if he’d actually be able to see Lance, were he to stare hard enough. _I gotta say, I didn’t think you’d freak out so hard when I went off grid, but I guess I forgot that you’re _you_ , or whatever._” He pauses, chuckling. It doesn’t sound all that light, almost like it’s masking a kind of sadness. Keith welcomes it all the same, happy to be hearing Lance’s voice regardless. “ _Veronica basically yelled at me until I sent you a message. She told me I was being dramatic by ignoring you so — so, here I am, I guess. I mean, my communicator’s been off, so I didn’t see any of your calls. But now that I have… Dude, 26? In three days? That’s a lot of fucking calls! I thought you’d chill after, like, three._ ”

Keith scowls. “Fuck you!” he yells at his phone.

“ _Anyway,_ ” he pauses. Keith pictures him running a hand through his hair, like he usually does when trying to be vulnerable. “ _I’m fine, alright? I’m with my family, I wanted to stay with them for a bit. I’m not telling you where, though, because I don’t exactly want visitors anytime soon. There’s — there’s stuff I need to sort out. With me, and my, y’know. My head, I don’t fucking know. I need a break. From space, and everything. I just —_ ”

Keith hears him sigh. He sits further back in his seat, listening less urgently and calming down by the second. He’s relieved, honestly. It was the not knowing that was eating him up. 

“ _I miss Allura, okay?_ ” Keith tenses at that. He doesn’t feel envious, it’s not that. It’s just — he misses her too, honestly. They were all there, they all miss her. She was important to Lance, but she was important to him too. She was family. 

“ _I miss her, and I’m kinda mad at myself,”_ Lance continues. “ _I’m mad, because I started treating her differently after we started dating. She was — she was, like, the most competent person in the universe and I completely lost faith in her ‘cause I was scared to lose her. That’s — that’s a total dick move, and I just wish I could apologize, y’know?_ ” He hears Lance sigh on the other end, his voice faltering a little. Keith feels his throat growing painfully tight. “ _I don’t know. But I think that for a while I was on Altea ‘honouring her memory’ ‘cause a part of me felt guilty, for that and... other reasons —_ ” He pauses. Suddenly, he laughs. “ _Aw man, you’ve listened to me spill my guts out, like, a million times. I’m gonna cut it short right here before you get bored with me._ ”

Keith rolls his eyes, leaning his head back in the pilot’s seat. He never understood why Lance always assumed he was a burden to everyone. Keith knew he didn’t ever talk about half the shit in his head. 

“ _Look, I just need some time. My mom’s been amazing, and it’s been great to see more of Nadia and Sylvio — I kinda missed them growing up, and I don’t want that to happen anymore. You should visit, though. When — when it’s time. Kosmo would love it here, there’s a ton of space for him to run around, just make sure he doesn’t fuck up the crops —_ ”

“What?” Keith’s gaze snaps back to the device. _Crops?_

“ _Oh. Oh fuck. Okay, yes, I’m at Marco’s farm. I came here ‘cause I missed my cow. She’s doing great, by the way, Kaltenecker I mean. Uuuugh. I don — I don’t wanna fucking re-record this message, so yes. That’s where I am. DO NOT COME HERE. Seriously, Keith, I will tell you when to come. I’ll be super mad if you show up too early. So just — listen to me, for once, alright?_ ”

Keith raises an eyebrow, a smile ghosting his lips. He hears Lance laugh. 

“ _What am I even saying. You always — you always fucking listen to me, don’t you. You know, I’m just gonna pretend you never do ‘cause it’s funnier that way, but let’s be real._ ” Keith purses his lips, pressure welling behind his eyes all of a sudden. He hadn’t expected — he hadn’t expected _that_. And Lance sounds like he’s smiling now, for the first time since the beginning of the message. 

“ _So, I’m gonna be turning my communicator off again for a while. It’s also not really ‘cause I don’t wanna hear from you, but more because I forget about it when I’m here. I’d be terrible at answering messages even if it was on, so. But just — have a little faith in me, alright? I’m not — I’m not cutting you out. Trust me, I’m gonna —”_ Lance pauses. He takes a deep breath. “ _I’m gonna be real happy to see you again, I promise. I’ll make it up to you._ ” He waits a second, before exhaling long and drawn out. “ _Whew! Alright, that was weird, wasn’t it? Haha, ANYWAY, see you on the flipside, buddy-o, my man. Uh, yep. Bye, Keith!_ ”

The line goes dead, and Keith finds himself staring at his device a few moments longer. Lance definitely — he definitely sounded normal, all things considered. 

He sighs, grinning as he leans back in his chair, blinking a couple stray tears from his eyes. After a moment of collecting his thoughts, he leans forward, turning on his ship and fiddling with the navigation knobs, before taking off.

 ** _2_**  
The first time it happens, Keith is counting crates of onions with Coran right before a delivery. He’s stood near the edge of the ship, brow furrowed and lips pursed, using his hands to keep track of how many they’ve taken out of storage, and how many more are needed. 

Something hits him in the back of his head and clatters to the ground. He hisses, clamping a hand over crown of his skull as he whips around toward the mysterious object on the ground. Coran noticed too, rushing over and asking if he’s okay. 

“I am,” he mumbles, eyes widening slightly at the pretty little clam shell on the deck, glittering and pearlescent in the afternoon sun. They look at each other, frowning, and take a peak over the edge of the ship, finding nothing except rolling deep blue waves. “Weird,” Keith mumbles. He picks up the shell and keeps it anyway. 

. . .

The second time it happens, he’s with Shiro on the deck having a conversation he absolutely does _not_ want to have. Shiro’s worried. Allura took up his job as coxwain in his absence, and is still filling the role as Keith “recovers”. Keith insists he doesn’t need to recover, that he’s fine and ready to man his own ship again. Shiro’s trying not to use his “captain voice” as he expresses his concern, but it’s not exactly working. 

Something hits his left shoulder, interrupting their conversation in its tracks. Whatever it is, it bounces off of him and back into the water with a soft _kerplunk_. He and Shiro bend over the gunwale, seeing only a soft ripple in the water, as if something had just fallen below the surface. Shiro shrugs, continuing his talk. Keith can’t listen to him, though, unable to focus with that clam shell burning a hole in his pocket, demanding all his attention. He can’t help but feel it’s not a coincidence. 

. . .

The third time it happens, he’s sitting with Pidge on the deck, backs leaned against the gunwale, looking at the stars. She’s rambling about one of the stars, something about it being in “retrograde” at this time of year. He has no fucking clue what that means, but he nods along because it’s nice that he has someone to talk to. Someone who doesn’t think he’s crazy. 

Something falls in front of him, clattering as Pidge inhales sharply in surprise. They lean over to find a beautiful black and white snail shell, still shiny with ocean water. 

Keith bolts upward and leans over to survey the ocean, and sees a head bobbing over the surface of the waves. But before he can get a good look, Pidge leans over next to him. The head, presumably, makes an inhuman yelp and dives back below the waves, the faintest sign of a tail following it under. 

“What the fuck?” Pidge mutters, turning to Keith with wide eyes. 

“I think,” he starts, hand gripping the snail shell tight, “that was Lance.”

. . .

The fourth time, they’re back on the deck after nightfall. They’re not alone, however, as Coran is navigating the ship to make it in time for an early-morning delivery. It’s rare for the deck to be abandoned at night, and Keith can’t really wait anyway. He wants to see if it will happen again. 

Pidge is sitting at his foot, looking terribly impatient as Keith drums his fingers against his forearm. After only a couple minutes, something clatters to the ground next to him. He picks it up — a large pearl about the size of a grape — and leans back to get a look at the water. 

_Lance?_ He tries to remember what it’s like to think words into Lance’s head, picturing his name as clearly as possible. He doesn’t see any sign of him. 

_Keith?_

His breath hitches, eyes still searching the water for any evidence of his friend. He knocks Pidge lightly on the thigh, giving her a sign that something is happening. 

_Can I see you?_ , he tries, rolling the pearl in his hand. 

He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to make out something, anything, that would indicate Lance is listening. 

_Not safe. Your crew mates think I am dangerous._

He sighs, chancing a glance at Coran as he whistles and steers the ship on its course. 

_Do you think I’m dangerous?_ It comes out hesitant, like Lance is afraid to even ask. 

_Not to us. Not sure about anyone who threatens us, though. I’m sure you could hold your own in a fight._ Keith tries to make the fondness apparent in his inner voice. He’s not exactly sure how to do that, but he’s trying. He’s doing what he can.

_Didn’t I scare you? Last time?_

Keith can’t lie, he realizes, when he’s speaking using only thoughts. 

_For a second, yes. But so did my mates. People can do scary things to protect their friends._

“What’s going on?” Pidge whispers, pulling at his pant leg. “Are you talking to him?”

Keith hears a startled noise in his head. 

_Who is that?!_

_It’s my friend, Pidge. You didn’t see her last time. But she wants to meet you._ He nods at her that it’s time to come up. _She wants you to be a part of our crew. She’s not afraid of you._

They both lean over, squinting at the water for any sign of lance. After a few exceptionally long seconds, they’re met with the unmistakable sight of a head bobbing over the water’s surface, a tail faintly visible trailing after it. Lance is swimming on his side, effortlessly keeping up with the slow-moving ship. He chances a small wave at Pidge, looking just a little terrified. 

She waves back, completely at a loss for words. Before they can manage anything else, Coran starts whistling again and Lance dives beneath the waves. 

. . .

The next time, Hunk is with them. They confided in him the night before, explaining why they had been acting kind of distant. He was understanding, of course, and wanted to meet Lance too. 

They’re lucky, this time. There’s no one else on the deck, and the ship is grounded for the night.

“What if he doesn’t like me, guys?”

“He’s gonna like you, oh my god. He likes Keith for some reason. He’ll definitely like you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

_Hello?_

Keith shushes them, peering over the edge of the ship. He doesn’t see anything, yet.

_Who is the big one?_

He chuckles. _That’s Hunk. He wants to meet you, too. You haven’t seen him yet._

A moment later, Lance’s head appears. This time, he waves using his fin, splashing it a little in his wake as he swims leisurely at the water’s surface.

“Oh my God,” Hunk mutters before clamping his hands over his mouth.

_Why is he looking at me like that?_

“‘Cause he thinks you’re pretty,” Pidge answers, smirking. Lance blushes furiously, slowly lowering himself until only his eyes are visible above the water. 

_You are all pretty too?_ It sounds like a question. Keith smiles. He’ll take what he can get. 

They stay out for a while. Lance answers a few questions that Pidge and Hunk have about where he came from and what he’s doing on his own. As they talk, he gradually approaches the ship, warming up to them more and more. Keith stays silent, mostly, and watches as his friends grow more comfortable, as they smile and joke and warm up to one another. It’s heartwarming, honestly, and it’s a lot more than he expected for a first real interaction. 

They grow kind of tired after some time, and Pidge and Hunk say good night to Lance, promising to speak to him again tomorrow. They shoot Keith strange, knowing looks as they leave. He doesn’t really let himself think too hard about it. 

_Keith?_

_Yeah?_ He peers over the gunwale at Lance, forearms resting on the edge. 

Lance seems bashful, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow in thought. _Can you use your voice?_

_Huh?_

_I miss hearing your voice, Keith._

“Oh,” Keith says, before biting his tongue, unsure of how to continue. Lance just stares at him a moment, before sputtering out a laugh.

_You are so articulate. A man of many words._

“Hey!” Keith scowls. It only makes Lance laugh harder. 

Something about this, all of it, stirs something inside him. It’s comfortable and overwhelmingly familiar, and Keith remembers how easy it was to just exist around Lance. He finds himself smiling, too, and laughing along with him. He rests his chin on his arms. 

“I missed you too,” he adds finally. Sure, it’s only been a couple weeks, but Keith had grown so used to Lance’s presence that the lack of it left a gaping, obviously hole in its wake. “It’s good to see you again.”

Lance’s face squirms uncomfortably, his tail idly swishing in the water. _I can’t come join you, though. Shiro hates me._

“Shiro doesn’t hate… he doesn’t know you.”

 _He doesn’t trust me,_ Lance adds, knitting his brows together. 

“I’ll get him to trust you. We’ll — I’ll talk to Hunk and Pidge. We’ll figure something out, okay?”

 _Okay._ Lance doesn’t look at him, opting instead to watch his tail splash in the water. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced. 

“Hey, look at me.”

When he does, Keith curses the distance between them. He can’t reach out with a hand to comfort him, can’t hug him like they’d done those few times. He can only lean a little further, a fruitless attempt to close the gap. 

“I’m gonna get you on this ship. You had my back when I drowned, and when I was stuck on that island, and I’m not gonna abandon you, okay?”

 _Okay,_ Lance says, a little firmer this time. _But Shiro thinks I’m a monster. And so do the others._

“But you’re not a monster,” Keith insists. “You know exactly who you are, Lance. And you know you can be an important part of our crew.”

It seems to take a moment for the words to sink in. But when they do, Lance smiles up at him. _Okay_.

“Give me some time, okay? It’ll work out. I promise.”

 ** _4_**  
“Alright, bags?”

“Yep.”

“Sign?”

“Yep.” Chip grins widely, making his way down the stairs of the Lion’s basement, a wrapped up lopsided package in tow.

“You’re —” Red squints. “You’re bringing the fucking neon weed lion? You told me to pack light!” 

“I told you to pack the _essentials_ ,” Pidgeon clarifies, pointing her stylus at him. 

“What the hell!” Red crosses his arms, scowling at her. He had taken great pains to “pack” as inconspicuously as possible, essentially hiding all his belongings under his baggy outfit. He figured it would be safest to treat their departure like any smuggling job. Apparently, Pidge and Chip had other ideas.

“Alright, Chip, get the box of parts on the trolley and we’ll leave by the sewer.”

“You’re bringing _cybernetics_? What the hell! That’s just making this even more illegal!”

“Red, I’m not just gonna throw away all the good shit you personally brought us. Also, nothing we ever do is legal. Why do I need to remind you of that? When have you ever cared, seriously?”

Red shuffles nervously. He is, admittedly, a little on edge about their big escape. He’s never done anything like this before — even though his job was illegal, it wasn’t like it was a massive risk. Leaving Earth though — leaving their bosses and the city behind, it was a much bigger risk. They wouldn’t be able to come back ever again. Not if they wanted to live. 

Thankfully, their bosses’ reach didn’t really extend past Earth and Luna — if they make a clean break, they won’t be followed. 

Still, though. It’s a tall order. 

“All good, Pidge.” Chip smiles, lugging one last box onto their wheeled cart. “Let’s roll.”

The walk through the sewers is pretty unpleasant, but not entirely difficult. It’s not that long, either. They know exactly where they’re going — an exit right near the waste treatment plant. Pidge got them all rubber boots to toss aside when they’re through — she didn’t want anyone to ruin their shoes. 

Once they get to the rendezvous point, just after the exit, their contact will do a drive by and sweep them up in her ship. The spot is far enough away from the main city that they probably won’t get noticed if they’re quick enough. And they rehearsed this — timed drills and everything. So that shouldn’t be an issue either. 

It all goes according to plan. They lug all the cargo onto the ship, while their contact keeps the engines on. 

“He should be here any minute.”

“Who?” Red asks, lugging a box over onto the loading platform. 

“Sun.” Pidge squints, looking out into the distance, past the waste treatment plant they’re using for cover. “Y’know, Blue’s comm dude.”

“He’s coming?”

“Yep.” She grins at him. “Our offer was too good to pass up. ‘Sides, he’s way too good of a dude for this place anyway. You’ll like him.”

As if on cue, Red hears the revving of a speedster, seeing it in the distance getting closer and closer. He’s not sure why, but it sets his heart on fire a little, thumping harder than it had before. Sun had known things about Blue’s leaving — things Red didn’t know himself. Maybe he’d have more answers. 

The first thing Red notices when Sun gets close enough is that he’s big — tall, broad, probably taller than himself, and Red’s not a short guy. The second thing he notices is that he didn’t pack light either. His speedster slows down in front of them, several boxes of cargo in tow. 

“Hey guys!” Sun hops off and swiftly lugs his cargo onto the ship without asking for help. He seems like he’s in a hurry — Red gets the message and clambers onto the ship, offering him a hand as he hoists himself up. 

“Thanks,” Sun supplies, peeling off his helmet to reveal his face. He’s got dark skin, slightly shaggy hair and the beginnings of stubble. But his most striking feature is the openness of his face — he doesn’t look like someone hardened by terrible experiences, or someone hesitant to open up to strangers. It’s odd — Red hasn’t seen many people like that in their business. He matches Sun’s expression and smiles at him timidly. 

“No problem. It’s Red, by the way.” 

Sun grins. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s great to put a face to the name.”

Red blushes, slightly, wondering what Blue’s told him. How _much_ he’s told him. He supposes they’re gonna have a few days to catch up on that front. 

“ _Ready?_ ” a disembodied voice asks over the intercom. Pidge answers through the comm at her wrist. “ _Strap in the cargo and get yourselves to the next room. There are seats for you there._ ”

Red finds himself wondering at who they’re trusting with their escape, but he doesn’t have time to ask questions. He’s all strapped in before he knows it, acclimating to the strange, tight feel of the seats. He’s never flown before, and he’s a little apprehensive. The mouthguard Chip offers him only serves to make him worry a little more. 

“This is gonna be kinda painful, guys, but you’ll be okay. It’ll only last a couple minutes.” Sun offers him a genuine, sympathetic smile. 

“You’ve flown before?”

“Wasn’t born on Earth.” 

Red nods, raising an eyebrow and putting the mouthguard in. When he leans back, his head and neck are locked in place by some sort of contraption. It’s a little too claustrophobic for his liking, and he’s spent hours of his life in air vents. As the ship revs its engines, no doubt beginning to take off into the atmosphere, Red tries to ignore the mounting pressure on the top of his head, the discomfort that feels oddly like your bones being compacted on top of one another. It’s uncomfortable, kind of painful, and only getting more so. So he thinks of Blue. 

He thinks of what it looked like to hold a hand that looked like Blue’s. He thinks of seeing him again, finally, healthy and whole and breathing and in one piece and he thinks about what his eyes might look like for real. It’s not exactly working as well as it could, not exactly distracting from how awkward and sore his body is getting by the minute, but it gets him through it. If Blue’s done this tons of times, he can do it once. For him. 

. . .

They’re in deep space before Red realizes he never got a good, last look at Earth. He’d wanted to leave so badly it had slipped his mind, but now he finds himself regretting it. He looks at Pidge, her brow furrowed, face twisted in discomfort and slight apprehension and he feels that she must be feeling the same thing. Or some version of it, at least. 

Once they’re past visual range of Earth and Luna, their pilot turns the artificial gravity on and they clamber out of their seats, one by one. Sun looks oddly comfortable, as if he’s done this thousands of times. Chip, Pidge, and himself aren’t as lucky. 

Red tries taking a first step and flies straight toward the floor, his knees buckling, head dizzy. Sun catches him and slowly gets him to his feet, chuckling lightly. 

“It’s rough the first few times. My stomach was always really upset after the first acceleration, but I got used to it. You did good.”

“Thanks,” Red mumbles, cringing.

“Hey, Red?” Pidge pipes up, hesitantly stretching out her limbs. “You should go see our pilot.”

“Huh? Why?”

She sighs, smirking. “Just go. She wants to see you.”

Red bites his tongue, deciding against being stubborn this time. His head still hurts, anyway. 

The ship is kind of small, and he makes it to the cockpit easily, getting used to the slightly lighter gravity and the odd feel of weightlessness that comes with it. Once inside, he eyes the pilot’s chair, seeing the back of a woman’s head as she fiddles with some controls. 

“Uh, hi,” he supplies, not knowing what else to say. She startles, spinning her chair around to look at him. Red’s breath hitches, eyes widening. _What the fuck? What the f —_

“Keith,” she smiles, eyes sparkling with brimming tears. She doesn’t move, as if waiting for him to decide whether he wants to surge forward or run. He does neither — feet planted as if frozen, feeling his throat tighten painfully and his eyes well with tears of his own. 

“Mom?”

See, Red’s always wondered if, after close to twenty years, he’d still be able to recognize his own mother. Some days her face would be too blurry in his head, and it would frustrate him and make him angry. He had no photos, no visual reminders, nothing to soothe the blow of losing her too young, too soon. And even once they started corresponding, albeit sporadically, he still found himself wanting to at least see her one more time. As if to confirm that she really existed, that she was really still alive and still thinking about him when he was most alone.

He never thought about what he’d do if he ever saw her again. It didn’t seem like it was in the cards — but then again, there was a time where he’d never considered leaving Earth either.

Before he knows it, she’s up and she’s hugging him tight. She’s a tall woman, but not taller than him at this point. It still makes him feel small, like he was when she used to hug him all the time. He buries his face in her shoulder, closing his eyes and savouring it, making an absolutely mess of her t-shirt with all the wetness coming from his face. But she only puts a steady hand on the back of his head, and rocks him slightly side to side, and he feels her smile and sniff against his hair as he absolutely loses it. 

They stay like that for a while, and he does away with Earth. He finally doesn’t care that he didn’t get that one last look, because wherever they’re going holds so much more promise, so much more of a future than he’d ever imagined. He does away with “Red,” deciding that he’s allowed to be a person and not an accessory. That he’s more than a job and more than what the city tried to make him. That his mother sees him as more than he saw himself, even after all this time. Enough that she came back for him, enough that she risked her life to give him one, a real one, a free one, finally. 

“You’ve grown so much,” she tells him when she pulls back, cupping his face between her palms.

“You — you came back,” is all he manages to get out. “You could have d —”

“Of course I came back.” She brushes his bangs out of his face, holding them back to get a clear look. “I was always going to come back for you. I thought about you every day.”

He doesn’t calm down for a while. The next minutes and hours are a mess of crying and hugging and short exchanges. They find themselves on the floor, eventually, leaning against the pilot’s chair as Keith’s mother runs her hand through his hair on her lap and gently scratching his scalp, calming him down like she used to do when he’d get into fights at school. It was something he took for granted at the time, and he’d forgotten how it felt. 

She tries asking him about his life in the past years, but he says he prefers not to dwell on it. That the very few friends he had made it somewhat bearable, even good at times. He says Pidge and Chip are good people, some of the best people he’s ever met. 

“And the person you love? What about them?” 

Keith startles, not expecting that. But he figures she must have gotten at least some context for their departure, not putting it past Pidge.

“What has she told you?” He looks up at his mother’s face, already comfortable and familiar. 

“She only told me you met someone, and that you wanted to leave Earth and be with them.”

Keith furrows his brow, not sure exactly where to start. 

“You don’t need to tell me everything. Or anything, really.” She sighs, bringing her hand to a stop in his hair. “I just want to understand you. But we have a lot of time, you don’t need to say anything just yet.”

He waits, considering. “It’s okay. You can ask about him.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s the second-bravest person I’ve ever met.” 

“Second?”

“Next to you.” 

She chuckles, cupping his face again. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too. Every day.”

. . .

Living on an asteroid is one of the strangest things, Keith decides, after spending a week on Ida. The station is built inside the rock, a maze of tunnels and plumbing and irrigation, and floors without natural light in sight. The gravity is close enough to Earth’s to feel normal, but different enough that sometimes he gets dizzy and needs to lie down. The strangest part of it, though, is that it feels oddly like Earth did at night — dark, artificially lit, cramped and populated. All the signs are in English, Mandarin, Japanese, and Russian, and everyone is noticeably _taller_ , but just barely. His mom says it’s another side-effect of the artificial gravity - something that people who grew up off-planet wear as a badge of pride. 

He learns Chip’s name is Matt and that Sun’s name is Hunk, and it only takes a couple days to get used to the change. Pidge insists that she likes her nickname — that it was hers long before it was given to her by their bosses — so he still uses it. He gets a job with Hunk at a noodle bar. It’s temporary, but so incredibly legal and normal that Keith finds himself used to it almost immediately. Cooking on the line is more repetitive than his old job, more mundane, but it’s nice not to have to watch your back all the time. 

Over conversations shared at work, he learns that Hunk cares greatly about Blue. Or Lance, rather. He considered him his best friend he met on Earth, and would do just about anything to speak to him again. It’s something they share, and they may not have known each other for long, but it’s a start. It’s enough to make Keith feel that he might be making a new friend for the first time in a while. 

He lives with his mother on her couch, and she promises to move with him when the time comes — they’re not going to part ways anytime soon, not with nearly two decades of catching up to do. Pidge and Matt sublet an apartment nearby with Hunk, and he sees them often. They’re not quite settled in — unsure if they want to open the Lion here, or somewhere else. They decide to wait, but continue to do odd cybernetic side jobs without the fear of getting arrested. It’s so incredibly common here, as more people need help adapting their bodies to the environment, that it was made legal long ago. 

He finds out Black lives on Titan with his husband, and crosses his fingers that Lance might have ended up back home there as well. The idea that two people he loves might be living close to each other makes him almost unreasonably giddy at the prospect of uprooting himself once again. He waits, though, for a sign. 

He hears from Black first.

“ _You made it out, kid. I’m proud of you._ ” 

“You did it first, old-timer. Wouldn’t have happened without you,” he laughs softly into the Pidge’s communicator, feeling lighter than he has in a very, very long time. 

“ _I’m sorry I left you,_ ” Black says, after a moment’s pause. “ _It was hard for me, I don’t want you to think it was easy._ ”

“I know,” Keith says, over the hurt it had caused initially, back when he was twenty-one and on his own once again. “You did it to be happy. You wanted to be with —”

“ _That’s not only why I did it,_ ” Black interrupts, something in his tone indicating a smirk. “ _I wanted you to know it was possible, Red. I hoped you would leave too, when you were ready._ ”

Keith grins, leaning his head onto the back of the sofa. “Yeah. I know. And it’s Keith, by the way.”

_“Shiro. You’re welcome to come visit anytime. Adam misses you.”_

“Tell him I miss him too. And I will, promise.”

. . .

A couple months into their stay on Ida, Keith is woken up by aggressive banging at his mom’s front door. It takes him a moment to gather his bearings, ruffling his hair out of his face and tying it back as he shudders and blinks his eyes open. He’s home alone, sleeping in after a late shift, and he had been planning on staying unconscious much longer. 

“IT’S HUNK!” he hears through the door. Keith tries to avoid contemplating why the hell Hunk might be up already, having worked even later than himself. His body spills off of the couch, swaying as he makes it to the door. 

The moment it opens, Hunk shoves a communicator at his face. “What the f —”

“It’s Lance. He left us messages.” Hunk is panting, resting his free hand on his knee. 

Keith’s eyes widen. He grabs at the phone, fumbling and almost dropping it as he runs back to the couch. 

“I already listened to mine, but — I’ll just — he said he had some stuff —”

“You can stay, it’s cool,” Keith mumbles, setting the phone down on the coffee table and staring at it.

“I’ll make you coffee.”

“Thanks, man.” Keith takes a deep breath, picking the comm up delicately and pressing the play button, holding it to his ear.

“ _Hey, Keith._ ”

He jumps, pausing the message and putting the phone back on the table. It’s a weird kind of shock, hearing Lance’s voice as it is, completely unsynthesized. He’s never heard it before. 

“You, uh, gonna —”

“I need a minute,” Keith mumbles, balling his hands together in front of his mouth and trying not to explode. He’d been thinking about this for months, now, growing more and more anxious that maybe the reason Lance hadn’t contacted him was because something actually might have gone _wrong_. It was weird to be standing at this precipice, about to find out whether —

“Oh my God, dude, listen to damn message.” 

Keith turns, glaring at Hunk as he smirks from his spot near the coffee machine. He’s been spending too much time with Pidge, honestly. Been picking up on her fucking sass. 

He huffs, grabbing the device once again and hitting the play button. 

“ _So, uh, must be weird to hear my voice and stuff. It was weird for me, y’know, the first time I did after… after I woke up. I sounded WAY shittier then, cause who knew not speaking for seven months or whatever could do so much damage. I sounded like a fucking chainsmoking frog or some shit, it was not pretty._ ”

He laughs, light albeit nervous. Keith can’t help the smile spreading on his face, trying to hold it together long enough to actually finish listening to the whole thing.

_“I pinged Su — Hunk to see if his comm still worked, and sure enough. He told me you guys made it out. That’s — that’s seriously great news honestly. I didn’t expect you guys to manage so soon, but I guess Pidge has her ways. She’s always — fuck, Red, you probably — you don’t wanna hear me ramble and shit. I just — I tried to think of what I was gonna say, but when I turned the thing on I just blanked and…”_

Keith bites back an embarrassing giggle, resting his head back on the sofa. 

“He’s doing the thing, eh?” Hunk asks, walking over with two cups of coffee. “Y’know, the thing where he just keeps talking about noth —”

“Shhhh.”

“ _So, I’m fine. Sort of, it’s… complicated. Basically, bodies aren’t supposed to be nearly immobile for months at a time, so. You can imagine. Or not, I dunno, but let’s just say it’s not exactly pleasant. Kinda sorta had to learn to walk again, and I’m still learning, and it’s been… a process. My sister’s a PT though, which is actually really great. She’s been helping so much, I’m really lucky. But it’s not just that, it’s also my head, and stuff. It’s not —_ ”

He hears Lance sigh, staying silent for a few moments.

“ _It’s pretty fucked up, honestly, what happened to me. Like, nightmare-level shit. And I hoped that once I got home things would be great again, but it’s all following me around and I haven’t exactly… adjusted. Yet. I’m getting there, but it’s gonna take some work, on my part. So I guess — what I’m trying to say is, I don’t wanna see you yet. I need some time to… heal. Put myself back together, you know. I’m… I’m sorry, Keith. I really, really am. I know you’ve been waiting a while and I feel kinda shitty for making you wait longer but it’s what I need right now. I don’t exactly like where I’m at but I’m trying to get better._ ”

Keith closes his eyes, breathing in and out to calm himself down. It’s not exactly the message he wanted to get, but it’s far better than what he had feared. He wishes Lance would stop apologizing, though. He’s got nothing to be sorry for. He’s trying his best, Keith knows he is. 

“ _I love you, by the way._ ”

Keith’s breath hitches, completely caught off guard. 

“ _I haven’t forgotten anything. Seeing you again is gonna make it all worth it, okay? So don’t worry about me. I’m gonna be fine. I’m with my family at home, and I’ll tell you where it is when stuff is going better. Took me a hell of a lot of effort to send this one message to Ida cause our connection here is shit, so you might not hear from me that often. But I’m thinking of you. So… yeah._ ” He chuckles, exhaling into the receiver. He waits, still not hanging up, and Keith just listens to him breathe, savouring what he can before the message ends. 

“ _You know, I never really mentioned this, but I used to think no one would love me cause I was… ‘cause I was too much, y’know? ‘Cause I wanted too much. I wanted someone that I would follow across the universe in a heartbeat, and who’d do the same for me. I came on too strong, I dunno. I scared people off ‘cause I wanted it so badly. My mom was always trying to set me up with people thinking I couldn’t be trusted to find someone on my own._ ”

He laughs again, this time lighter. 

“ _Anyway, all I’m saying is I think she’s gonna really like you. She loves it when I prove her wrong._ ”

Keith runs a hand down his face, hiding his eyes from Hunk. “Fff, shit,” he mumbles into his hand, walking that rare, fine line between laughter and sobs. 

“ _Anyway, talk to you soon. Love you._ ”

He stays like that, face covered, when the line goes dead. Sniffing as he squeezes his eyes shut, Keith reminds himself to breathe in, out, as he feels a solid weight rest on his shoulder. Hunk’s hand squeezes and runs to his back, rubbing slow circles over and over. They stay like that a short while, until Keith hears a sniffle that isn’t his. 

He looks at his friend, at his soft, understanding smile and his eyes, getting wetter by the second. Keith laughs a little, knowing Hunk understands what it’s like to love Lance too, in his own way. Hunk wraps him in a bear hug the next second, squishing Keith’s nose against his shoulder

They sit for a while. Keith doesn’t know exactly how long, too wrapped up in how full his heart feels. A year ago, all he had were Pidge and Chip, a nearly empty apartment, and a soul-crushing job he was unfairly, exceptionally good at. He had a fake name chosen for him by someone else, and a real name tucked away for safe keeping that he hadn’t heard spoken in years. 

He’d never imagined he’d end up here of all places — “here” being the asteroid belt, his mother’s home, with friends who loved him and understood him and have already done so much for him, more than he could have ever imagined. 

He’d already gone further than he ever thought he would. And if loving Lance got him here, he didn’t ever want to stop. 

_**3**_  
Keith sighs, plunking himself down on a barstool by the window. He takes his phone out and hunches forward, pausing a moment to relish in the feel of not standing on a fucking concrete floor for the first time in four-ish hours. His boss had been going for a sort of “industrial chic” look that just made the cafe look mildly unfinished. It was “cool” and “hip”, with the unforeseen downside of absolutely obliterating his lower back after the hundreds of shifts he’s worked. 

Thankfully, phone breaks are one of his job’s little pleasures. He couldn’t survive without them, honestly, usually taking them in the back alley on a milk crate despite the shitty wi-fi signal — mainly because when regular customers see him, they feel the need to come chat. Which is definitively _not_ an integral part of the whole phone break experience. 

Today, however, there’s a street festival just around the corner, and the intersection is closed off. Which means no through-traffic, which means no rich customers driving in from across the city for their fix of baked goods and overpriced coffee roasted in fucking Brooklyn of all places (the border tarifs don’t help, but when Keith tried complaining about their price increase to his boss, he was met with a door in the face). It’s been a quiet day, is all, and Keith’s determined to take advantage of the rare opportunity to perch by the window and fuck around on his phone for a good few minutes before continuing his closing shift. The signal in the alley doesn’t let him load photos, and only really allows for some very sluggish Reddit browsing. But today, he gets to look at photos _and_ not get interrupted by regulars. It’s a small luxury, but something he’s been really looking forward to since his shift started. 

It also means he can peep at Lance’s Instagram account. 

Keith has a secret art account himself, where he posts his drawings of wildlife. He’s got an impressive total of eleven followers — including Shiro, Pidge, four porn bots, two fitness bots, one eleven year-old from Albuquerque, one middle-aged mom who posts oversaturated pictures of her garden, and a Minions fan page. He doesn’t go on all that much, posting an average of every twenty-seven weeks like an artist truly committed to self-promotion. 

Lately, though, he’s been a much more avid user. Ever since Hunk had come in to chat, and shown him and Pidge a picture Lance had posted of a stray cat that had just given birth to a litter of kittens in his Abuela’s backyard. They were really fucking cute, honestly — but not cute enough to prevent Keith from catching Lance’s username. His next break, he practically sprinted out into the alley before searching for “@bunuelo_boi” and being met with a profile with over 100 photos that wouldn’t fucking load. Keith couldn’t go back into the front of house, though, because that guy who travelled Southeast Asia was there drinking an americano with oat milk and probably dying to talk about his whole big plan to become a legally-certified cannabis grower. 

Suffice to say, Keith’s glad Shiro got him one of those bulky phone cases that can withstand being run over by a bus, because he _did_ in fact pitch it at the ground in frustration. 

He got that first look an hour later, squatting in the coffee corner when there were no customers in line. In one brief minute he managed to check out about a dozen of Lance’s photos — mostly of other people, namely his niece and nephew, some friends at a bar, a man that must be his father proudly holding probably the fluffiest and fattest grey cat Keith had ever seen, and a series of faraway stalker-esque shots of dogs tied to poles outside shops. His most recent post after the one of the kittens was of a gorgeous secluded beach surrounded by tropical shrubbery. After admiring it a moment, he noticed that Lance had included another photo in the post. When Keith swiped left, he was greeted with a topless mirror selfie of Lance in red swim trunks giving the camera a finger gun. Before Keith could get a _really_ good look, though, his boss had walked out of the office, forcing him to abandon his phone and shoot up to a standing position. 

He’d guiltily stared at the photo later, in the privacy of his own room. After internally wrestling between his desire to whip it out and take care of business and his desire to _not_ do that because he’s not a complete hopeless animal, Shiro had thankfully interrupted his crisis by asking whether he wanted to go for a run. 

Keith had promised himself to reserve his mild cyber-stalking for anywhere other than the privacy of his bedroom after that. 

In the present, perched by the window, he opens up Lance’s profile once again and is greeted by a new post of a very cute old woman smashing plantain slices with the bottom of a glass. The caption is only a series of three emojis — a grandma, a banana, and a yellow heart. Keith smiles. Lance is a master of wholesome content, something that is kind of surprising but ultimately makes complete sense. 

It’s been a couple months since Lance moved away and if Keith’s being honest, the sting of it has subsided. It’s more of a dull ache now, but he’s learning to live with it. His life has sort of gone back to normal — mostly normal, except for the fact that he’s been hanging out with Hunk and Pidge a lot more. Like, actual hanging out, in bars, and their apartments, and the park and stuff. So overall, it’s probably better than “normal.” If Keith’s being honest with himself, he’s been having the most social summer of his life. And it’s been great, despite Lance’s absence. 

It does hurt, though, when he thinks of how Lance could have factored into the summer he’s been having. How he’d fit in seamlessly, like the last piece a jigsaw puzzle. He might play guitar in the park with them, or introduce them to his family’s big cat, and probably give Keith a lot of really great orgasms — 

_Ugh_. Keith sighs, slouching. The sting may have been lessened, but that fucking dull ache is definitely still a Thing. 

He absently scrolls further down — further than he’s gone before. His brain isn’t really registering any of the photos, but he’s kind of curious and kind of sad, again, because these things might get easier to manage, but they definitely don’t go away overnight. He and Lance haven’t talked since that last conversation in the alley, and Keith doesn’t want to push it — he doesn’t want to bother Lance, or set any unrealistic expectations, or hold him back from having a good time in Cuba. But he misses him. He misses him a _lot_ for only having hung out a literal handful of times, for only being together one night. Just because he’s been having fun lately doesn’t mean it’s been easy, and sometimes Keith finds himself wishing he’d never agreed to not keeping in touch. As healthy as a clean break sounds, it’s not exactly the ideal —

Keith pauses, stopping on a photo from a year back. In it, Veronica is doubled over laughing, stood next to Lance holding his niece. Except he’s dressed entirely in drag, from head to toe, and the little girl in his arms is wearing hair and makeup that matches. Keith takes a good, long look at the spectacle — taking in the artful makeup job, blue bodycon dress, and long, presumably fake hair that looks silky and honestly sexy nonetheless. His throat dries up a little, unsure if this is some sort of bisexual awakening or if he’s just exclusively straight for Lance as a hot lady.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“ _GAH_ ,” Keith spits out, fumbling his phone onto the counter as Katie cackles at his expense. When he picks it back up again, his eyes widen at the realization that he _definitely_ just heart-ed a year-old photo of Lance in drag from his embarrassingly sparse art account. 

“Fucking FUCK!”

“Woah, woah, what happened?” Katie gets on her tiptoes, perching over Keith’s shoulder at the screen. 

“I fucking liked it,” Keith mutters, a hand running through his hair to grip at its root. 

“You liked —” she leans further over, “an old picture of Lance in drag? From your secret animal instagram?” 

Keith whips his head around, met with the sight of Katie grinning deliriously, her tiny fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. “This is —”

“It’s a disaster.”

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened. Ever.” 

Keith drops his phone and buries his face in his hands, groaning. 

“Oh come on!” Pidge sighs, dropping her rag on the counter next to him and taking a seat. “It’s fucking hilarious!”

Keith groans again, muffled through his palms. “Will he not notice if I un-like it?”

“Hmm… Pretty sure he won’t get a notification on Instagram if you do. But he’ll still get a push notification, if he’s got them turned on. So…” She smirks, side-eyeing him. 

“Ugh.” Keith drops his hands, reaching for his phone once again before it vibrates against the counter. They both stare at it, completely frozen before it vibrates once again. Katie shifts in her seat. 

“You, uh, gonna get that?”

“No,” Keith answers instinctively. He twitches, wanting to reach for his phone but completely at a loss as to what to do when he does. 

Katie chuckles, lifting herself off the barstool and patting him on the shoulder as she collects her rag. “You still have, like, ten minutes, so. Make ‘em count, buddy.”

Keith waits until she’s gone to poke at his phone screen, turning it on and peaking as if it’ll bite him in the face if he moves too quickly. Sure enough, he’s got two DMs from @bunuelo_boi, and a subsequent dramatic spike in his heart rate. He grits his teeth, reluctantly swiping at the screen.

**bunuelo_boi**  
_Active now_

_Wednesday 4:23 PM_

>Keith?

>That you?

“Uuuuugh,” he groans again, shutting the screen and burying his face behind his bangs. His self-pitying only lasts a moment longer, though, interrupted by another buzz. 

>Your stuff’s really good. I had no idea you drew 

Keith squints at his phone, definitely not expecting _that_. Before he can really process, it buzzes in his hand and a notification appears at the top of his screen. 

_Instagram: @bunuelo_boi started following you_

He sighs, his mouth helplessly twitching into a faint smile. Grabbing his phone, finally, he types out a quick reply before he can over-analyze further.

  
>guilty

>thanks, by the way. I appreciate it  


He waits a moment, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, lips pursed.

  
>how did you know?  


Lance sees the message right away. In only a couple seconds, he’s typing out a reply.

>youre only followed by shiro, katie and a bunch of bots lmao

>also, im conveniently ignoring the fact that you liked an old pic of me in drag, just so you know

Keith’s mouth twists further, unable to help the genuine smile plastering itself on his face and the giddiness mounting in his chest.

  
>don’t know what you’re talking about. never happened.  


>cmon buddy admit it

>Im a hot girl

  
>meh. Ive seen better  


>wow

>okay, rude

Keith snorts. 

>youre admitting you did it, though

  
>no  


>you were STALKING me!

  
>absolutely not  


Lance sees the message, but doesn’t respond right away. He keeps typing, and stopping, and typing, and stopping and Keith furrows his brow, wondering what the hell is going on. The giddiness slowly dissipates, making way for a kind of nervous itch. Keith’s never been one to care about these kinds of things, but Lance can apparently weaken his resolve and make him feel like a fourteen-year-old again. _What an asshole_ , Keith thinks without a smidge of malice.

>hey so ngl I totally tried cyber stalking you

>like, months ago

>but you didn’t have fb and I didn’t guess that your insta was a random series of letters and numbers

>tried again last week tbh. So dw not judging

Keith pauses, reading the messages over and over as if they were written in foreign script. _What the_ — 

>also, im really sorry i never messaged you. No good excuse for that, I was just scared you wouldn’t answer

He knits his brows further, weighing his words considerably before typing out a response.

  
>it’s ok. Im sorry I didnt either

>whyd you try to stalk me if you could have just messaged me?  


He hesitates a little before sending it, not sure how vulnerable they were feeling like getting right about now.

>seriously?

>i wanted to see your dumb hair one last time

Keith snorts again, smiling stupidly at his phone. He composes himself, shaking the dumb grin off his face and opening the camera. Ignoring how fucking unnatural it feels, he takes a quick selfie of a deadpan expression, bangs almost completely obscuring his eyes. He tries not to look at it before sending it to Lance. 

After he does, he quickly turns off his phone screen and throws it face down on the counter, exhaling. 

“What are you doing now?”

Keith turns, only to be met with Katie’s shit-eating grin behind the cash. 

“Nothing.”

“Did Keith fucking Kogane just send someone a _selfie_?”

“No.”

“I didn’t know you even knew how to take one.”

Keith’s retort dies on his tongue, interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. Once. Twice. Quickly forgetting about Katie and whatever the fuck he was gonna say next, he opens his screen once again —

— only to be met with a selfie of Lance, squinting at the sun and grinning, a khaki bucket hat on his head. 

>this is real fun but im warning you i don’t have much data here, i can’t send those often

>figured this was just a special occasion

Keith raises an eyebrow, smile returning.

  
>whats the occasion?  


>your hair doesn’t look half bad

Keith scoffs, sending him a middle finger emoji.

“Alright, break’s over.” 

He sighs, spinning around in his seat to face Katie, pouting.

“Message him after work. I need your help stamping cups.” Katie drags four giant plastified stacks of paper cups onto the counter, hauling them dramatically for emphasis.

  
>gotta get back to work. Katie’s busting my ass

>talk later?  


>you bet. HI KATIE!

“Lance says hi.”

“I say hi back.”

  
>she says you’re a dumbass  


>awww thanks kat

 

He pockets his phone, still smiling. Katie eyes him as he gets back behind the counter, taking out the stamps and ink. She’s still watching when he opens the plastic on the cups, still watching when he starts stamping.\

“What?” 

“Nothing, it’s just,” Katie sighs, joining him. “You’re really cute. Both of you. I mean, I can’t see what Lance is doing or saying but I’m betting it’s fucking saccharine if you’re acting like this.”

“Stop,” Keith mutters, trying to focus on the whole stamping thing. “He doesn’t live here. It’s not, like, a thing.”

Katie eyes him, raising an eyebrow. “It doesn’t need to be a whole _thing_. You can just talk to him, when you feel like it. See what happens. Don’t need to stress out.”

“Hmph.” Keith nods, focusing harder on the cups. She does have a point. 

“Besides, I give it, like, a week before you have phone sex.”

Keith’s stamp clatters to the ground, his hand flying into the ink. “ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, glaring at her as he vainly tries to scrub the ink from his fingers. She smirks the entire time, despite his growing frustration at this fucking ink that never comes off, distracting himself from what she actually said. Not important, anyway. None of her business.

. . .

Katie was wrong. It takes a lot longer for them to have phone sex, maybe a month or two but Keith’s not really counting. Lance has a shitty phone plan, and called him using his Abuela’s landline late into the night, after she had fallen asleep. He’s not quite sure how it all went down — it was kind of quick, a succession of events tumbling into place before Keith could really grasp what was happening. One minute they were messaging about nothing, and next Keith is scrambling to shut his door and whip off his pants, waiting for Lance to call him on his cell. 

He’d be lying if he said he’d never done it before. Keith had a brief stint with a married dude in another city. It definitely wasn’t one of his proudest moments, and he wouldn’t do it again. He tells Lance this — all of this — right beforehand, unsure of what was driving him to be so honest all of a sudden. It was all too easy to bare himself behind a screen, behind only a phone connection. Lance seems… taken aback, unsure of how to proceed. So Keith leads the way, wracking his brain for the right thing to say that would help ease into things. 

“I like talking to you,” he tells Lance, low and soft, testing the waters. “I like your voice.”

“ _I like yours, too._ ” Lance’s voice is shaky, like he’s a little scared. Like the first time.

“I wish you were here,” Keith whispers, hoping that Shiro won’t hear things. 

“ _I —_ ” Lance’s breath hitches, his words dying on the line. 

They’re absolute goners after that. It doesn’t take him long — touching himself to the sound of Lance, to his panting and his sighs. He tells him what he’s doing to himself, describes the way he’s curling his fingers and hitting the right spot, and Lance barely holds it together at all, only lasting a few minutes of his own. 

The next time, he taks Lance through it. He tells him how to do it, tells him to breathe and relax and breathe again and reassures him it’ll feel weird a little before it feels right. When it does, Keith rides out the wave, listening to every new sound he’s never heard come out of Lance’s mouth. It’s as intimate as that first night, maybe even more so, and Keith can’t help but feel that Lance is trusting him with something important, something he doesn’t give out often. 

“ _What are we doing?_ ” Lance asks afterward, after a minute or two of silence. It doesn’t sound as loaded as Keith would expect — it’s more curious than anything.

“I dunno,” he replies eloquently. Cringing at that, he rolls over in bed and sighs. “We’re doing what we feel like doing?”

“ _No, I mean, like —_ ” Lance groans lightly, taking a moment. “ _I still don’t know when I’m coming back —_ ”

“That’s okay,” Keith says without thinking. 

“ _Yeah?_ ”

“I don’t mind. I like — I like this.”

“ _You sure? It’s great for me, it is, but… I dunno, is it, like, enough? For you?_ ”

Keith’s kind of shocked at that. Of course it is. He’s never had this much in the first place, and he’s never given this much of himself before. He didn’t expect it — he never really anticipated where things would go, but it’s been the best ride of his life, all things considered. He didn’t think things could go this well after Lance left. And he’s not about to let it end anytime soon.

He’s never told Lance this, though. He’s never been blunt or completely transparent about it, never said it without room for guessing. Lance has admitted to being scared. He’s admitted to being unsure, to not knowing what’s going on in Keith’s head and being driven a little anxious from it. He’s told him this, given him so much of himself that Keith barely realized it as it was happening. But it hits him all at once, and he finds himself, once again, at a loss for words. 

“ _Keith?_ ” Lance says, after some silence. “ _Can you, uh, not leave me hanging after that? I’m kinda freaking out._ ”

“I like you a lot, of course it’s enough.”

“ _Okay._ ” Lance inhales, “ _Yeah, okay, wow. Me too. I can — we can work with that. Yeah?_ ”

“Yeah.” 

They do. They work with it a lot better than Keith would have expected. There are no words shared over labels, over finding names for what they’re doing. But there’s an understanding, there’s a confidence that no matter how long they might wait between messages, or between conversations, that they’ll always come back. Sometimes Lance’s data runs out two weeks before the end of the month, ran dry by their talking and sharing. Or when his Abuela makes more calls than usual to her friends and her family out of the country. And they need to wait a bit, go a little while without speaking. But it’s okay, because he always comes back. And even though there are so many things Keith wishes he could do with him, it’s more than enough for now. 

One night, a few months in towards the end of the summer, Lance calls. Crying and probably a little drunk, he tells Keith he kissed a girl while he was out and he feels awful about it. He apologizes, and stresses, and Keith tells him to shut up because it’s okay and he hates hearing him beat himself up. And Keith feels a little angry, a little envious for only a minute or two, but it dies out quick because Lance came back to him, even in a moment like this. It’s like something the world told him he should be mad about — something that they might be conditioned to think is wrong, or a deal breaker, or a sign that what they’re doing won’t work. But he doesn’t feel that way at all, and it surprises him. So he tells Lance this and tells him it’s okay, that he’s not mad and that Lance is human and he’s allowed to want things for himself independently of what they’re doing. That they’re allowed to be less than perfect, and things are allowed to get a little messy if need be. 

“ _I’m gonna come home. I’m gonna make it so I can come home. As soon as I can, okay?_ ” Lance sniffs into the receiver. “ _I love it here and I love Abuela but I’m close to done, Keith. I’m tired, I still feel like a kid. I don’t know what I’m doing —”_

“It’s okay,” Keith says, feeling himself get emotional in turn. “You’re doing your best. You’re doing great, okay?”

“ _I’m falling asleep,_ ” Lance slurs in response. Keith snorts, hearing Lance chuckle lightly. 

“Goodnight.”

“ _Night. Love you._ ” It comes out as a mumble, barely audible but Keith _definitely_ hears it. He opens his mouth, met with the sound of snores on the other end. 

“Love you too,” he says for good measure, hoping it’ll still be heard on some unconscious level. When he hangs up the phone, he stares at it for a good few minutes, not really believing himself. But it’s there, and he did it, and he adds it to the ever growing mental list of things he’s been doing that he never even thought he would ever do. And he remembers when Lance was just a client coming in to order his fucking piss poor excuse for a coffee, and how terribly Keith had acted, how he’d assumed the worst, and he marvels at how fucking weird life can get, how things can go in the strangest directions. How “strange” and “weird” aren’t bad things — they can be really great things too. 

In early fall, Lance tells him it’ll be soon. He’s still not sure when, but his family is working something out — something about getting Luis to pull his weight, or switching places with his Dad to help run their business. And Keith actually smiles at customers that day, and doesn’t assume the worst of them, and has some really nice conversations with regulars he used to ignore. And Katie looks at him like he’s grown a new head, but it only makes him laugh, full-bodied and genuine. 

If Keith’s being honest, he really likes the person Lance brings out of him. He’s a little more happy, a little more selfless, and he hadn’t realized until now how these things could go hand in hand. And he can’t wait for Lance to see this version of him, to see how happy he’s made him in only a short few months of long-distance corresponding. He hopes it lasts — whatever ‘it’ is, that makes him so comfortable around Lance when it’s only their words and the dark around them. 

_**1**_  
Keith ambles into his ship, exhausted from a twelve earth-hour day of delivering aid to another war-torn settlement. He peels off the top of his blades suit, cursing at how sore his back is after working on his feet all day. He wipes his neck and forehead with a t-shirt found on the floor as he plops himself down into his cot, thinking about the long-ass sleep he’s going to need after today. 

Glancing in the lopsided mirror hung nearby, Keith gets a sense of just how disheveled his hair looks. Krolia had braided it for him that morning — she insists that keeping it neat and professional is important when on the job. Now, however, the braid itself is all uneven and loose, hair struggling to free itself. He sighs, not even bothering to undo it, as he lays back down on his cot, head propped up on some pillows. 

Closing his eyes, he savours the feel of cool air on his bare chest. He lets his breathing slow, knowing full well that he might just pass out here and now, without even brushing his teeth. But before he can, his communicator begins buzzing in his lap. 

Keith answers it without even looking at the screen — he’s too exhausted to care. “Hey?” he mutters, rubbing at his face.

“ _Keith! Hey! Uh —_ ”

Keith’s eyes shoot open, all remnants of fatigue completely disappearing in a heartbeat. “Lance?”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Lance says. His eyes are wide, cheeks looking a little flushed. 

“You — uh, you okay?”

Lance takes a moment, blinks a couple times before breaking into a wide grin. “ _Yeah! I’m… honestly really good. Really._ ”

Keith studies his face a second, noticing the tan he’s sporting and the slightly outgrown haircut. He notes how his altean marks are still there, two little turquoise spots against the backdrop of his skin. Keith knows Lance resented them at first — he didn’t want to be constantly reminded of Allura’s absence. Keith wonders what he thinks of them now.

He smiles back, the shock of seeing Lance again giving way to excitement. “That’s great. I’m really happy to hear that.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Lance purses his lips and rubs the back of his neck. “ _So, uh, you got my voice message, eh? From, like, a month ago?_ ”

Keith laughs. “It was more like two months ago, but yeah. I did.”

“ _Oh shit! Really? Uuuuugh._ ” Lance chuckles, running a hand down his face. “ _I’m sorry if I… worried you, or whatever. I just —_ ”

“It’s okay,” Keith interrupts. “It’s really okay. You don’t need to apologize.”

“ _Thanks, buddy._ ” Lance drops his hand to his lap. “ _So…_ ”

“How’s Kaltenecker?”

“ _She’s great!_ ” Keith feels his heart tighten at how Lance’s face brightens. “ _I gave her a bath yesterday, and Nadia made a little bow to put in her hair. She looks _gorgeous_ , Keith, I’ll send you a picture later._”

“Please..”

“ _How’s Kosmo?_ ”

At the sound of his name, Kosmo suddenly materializes right next to Keith, poking his snout at the screen and wagging his tail happily. 

“ _What the —_ ” Lance wheezes between laughs. “ _What the fuck?! How does he do that?_ ”

“I don’t fucking know, honestly. He’s so weird. Down boy.” Keith manages to calm his wolf down, scratching behind his ear and nudging his head into his lap. 

“ _You should visit,_ ” Lance blurts. “ _Soon. Or, whenever. Bring Kosmo. I’d love to — It’d be cool to see you both again._ ” He smiles, a little tentative. “ _I know you’re probably busy with all the Blade stuff, but y’know. When you’ve got the time —_ ”

“Thursday?” Keith says, sitting a bit straighter in his seat. He hopes his face doesn’t look _too_ desperate. 

“ _That’s in, like, four days. I mean, yeah! Yeah, that works._ ”

“Cool,” Keith relaxes, trying to ignore the fact that his body suddenly feels too big for his skin, that his chest feels like it might just explode. He might be sweating, but he’s not sure. _What the hell?_

On Lance’s end, a woman’s voice yells something in Spanish. He startles, turning back to respond with a few words Keith doesn’t quite understand. 

“ _I gotta go, Ma’s calling me for dinner. But, uh, see you? Thursday?_ ”

“Yeah. See you.” Keith smiles into the phone and sends him a little wave before the line goes dead. He sighs, dropping his phone into his lap and leaning back down, unable to keep his face from smiling harder and harder. 

Kosmo whines, nudging at his hand. Keith had forgotten to keep petting him, apparently. He continues absently, lost in thought and wracking his brain for a gift idea. It feels appropriate, somehow, despite having never done that before. He’d probably need to bring something for the family, too. For Lance’s mother, especially. It’s been a while since he’s seen her.

Something feels different, about this upcoming visit. Maybe it’s because something feels different about Lance, though he can’t quite put a finger on it. He seems a little more at peace, probably more than Keith’s seen him since the end of the war. He knows he can’t really draw any big conclusions off the short conversation they had, but he has an inkling. He’s always found Lance easier to read than most people, despite how much he tries to hide. 

Keith swings his legs over the side of his cot, digging his fingers into his hair. He thinks of some cute little blue flowers he saw earlier in the day, when his team was distributing supplies. They had reminded him of Lance, mostly because they were almost his favourite colour. Almost. Lance loved turquoise, like the colour of the ocean back home. The flowers were more of a sky-blue, but Keith figured they were decent enough. He’d need to find a box to carry them, something with —

Keith stops, groaning into his hands. Is he really thinking about giving Lance _flowers_ of literally all things? Is he really that hopeless, after all this time? Keith groans harder at the realization that he somehow remembers Lance’s favourite shade of blue, feeling like an absolute mess. It’s embarrassing, really. If he brought Lance flowers, he would definitely _know_.

But… would that be so bad? Really?

“UUUUGHHHNN,” he groans again, cursing Pidge’s voice at the back of his mind. He knows she’s right. He knows that if anyone deserves to know how loved they are, it’s Lance. Even if he doesn’t return the sentiment, and even if it makes things weird. Keith can deal with weird — he’s dealt with it his entire life. He’s dealt with loss for as long as he can remember, and he’s known what it’s like to feel like he’s losing Lance. He’s known how if felt for three other versions of himself to lose him as well. And honestly, if he’s being real, it’s been kind of a _lot_ and he’s tired of pining. He’s done enough of it to last a lifetime, always waiting for what would feel like the _right time_ when everything is going okay. 

There’s never really going to be a right time, and Keith will always find it easier to be alone than to open himself up to the mere possibility of loving someone and giving them a part of himself. But nothing good has ever come easy to him. 

Keith sighs, knowing in his heart of hearts that he’s already made his choice. He stands up, trying to keep his back straight as possible as he pulls his suit back on. He’s got a new job to do — he’s got some flowers to appraise and collect and a mother to explain things to and a team to warn of his upcoming absence. He’ll be gone a day, maybe two tops. It doesn’t need to be long, just long enough to put his all cards on the table. 

“Alright, boy,” Keith mumbles, turning to Kosmo. His wolf’s ears perk up. 

“We’re going on a little trip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently have a big thing for writing breakfast scenes. Breakfast is my favourite meal of the day, so this isn’t really surprising. Counting the one in this chapter and the many in my previous fic, I think I’ve reached a total of four breakfast scenes? Or three and one brunch scene, if you count them separately. Actually, there was the one with Krolia and the eggs earlier in this fic. So there’s probably more. I don’t know what this says about me.
> 
> Also, I 100% headcannon Keith as being someone who talks with his mouth full. Keith has terrible table manners but he’s pretty so it’s fine. 
> 
> ALSO, a bunuelo is a Cuban doughnut.
> 
> There is in theory one chapter left, but it might get split into 2. Chances are it will be, things always take longer than I expect. We're in the home stretch though! Thank you for keeping up with this fic <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Keith’s spent so much time wondering if Lance would ever love him back. He’s watched his other selves fall in love with him over and over again. And he’s seen what it might be like for Lance to love him, too — if only for a brief, fleeting moment. But it never gave him any real answers, and left him stuck wondering, still, after so much time has passed. 
> 
> But the strangest part is that when he thinks of Lance — _his_ Lance, that is — and all the time they’ve spent fighting alongside one another, staring death in the face and talking into the night, he realizes that the answer might have been right in front of him all along."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final chapter of PBP!!! 
> 
> Hooo boy there is a LOT of sex in this! All scenes are not explicit and more emotional/cute/spicy than porny. That being said, if you want to avoid reading them, I added a dash before and after they happen because explaining where they are in words is just too much for my tired brain right now. 
> 
> If y'all are big into Klance fanart, you might recognize some aspects of the beginning of the last canon part of this chapter. Isa Enriquez (aka @Hesioddreaming on twitter) made [this](https://twitter.com/hesioddreaming/status/1077415945230905344) amazing three-page post-canon Klance comic that served as inspo for the final bit of this story. I asked her if I could write a continuation of it, and she gave me the okay. It sort of snowballed into this massive multi-chapter ordeal from there.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for following this fic. I appreciate you all. Enjoy!
> 
> Post-posting edit: THIS FIC IS EXACTLY 85 000 WORDS ON THE NOSE! I'M FREAKING OUT! WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?

**_2_**  
“Thanks for coming to this, uh… meeting? I guess.” Keith looks at Pidge, trying to calm his nerves. She gives him a little thumbs up. 

“Yeah, so — Pidge, Hunk, and I have been talking to Lance.”

“What?” Shiro’s brow furrows with concern. Keith sort of figured that would happen. 

“Yeah,” is all he can really think of saying. “He’s been following the ship ever since we left the island, apparently. He… doesn’t really have anyone else out there. Y’know, besides… me.”

“And us,” Hunk chimes in. “Pidge and I. We’re his friends now, too.”

“Yeah,” Pidge pipes up, a little fiercely. Keith’s infinitely grateful that he’s got her on his side. “He’s a good person. Or… merperson, whatever. He’s just a little lost. He needs a home and we should give him one.”

“Why?” Allura asks, arms crossed. “Forgive me, but he nearly attacked Shiro and myself last time we encountered him. 

“I know, but you didn’t really give him a chance.” Keith tries to keep his voice even and measured, but it’s taking a whole lot of effort. “You came in with your guns and he thought he needed to protect us. He doesn’t really trust humans, so you can imagine how it looked.”

“If he doesn’t trust humans, why should we house him on this ship?” 

“Keith, we’re just trying to cover our bases,” Shiro adds. “We just want to understand, that’s all.” 

Keith knits his eyebrows together. “He’s never really had a reason to trust humans. He’s had… bad experiences. But I gave him a reason to trust me.”

“And so did we,” Pidge adds. 

“And we wouldn’t just be ‘housing’ him, he’d be… a part of _this_ ” Keith finishes, gesturing to the deck around them. “We don’t have a medic and we keep needing to dock whenever someone gets too sick. Lance can heal people. He saved my life.”

“The boy makes a fair point, Allura.” Keith startles, surprised that Coran would be taking his side. He thought —

“There’s only so much I can do in terms of first aid. One of these days, something might go awry and our luck might run out. I think we should give this merperson a chance.”

“It would be nice to have another set of hands around here…” Shiro adds. He raises an eyebrow. “Did you say something about Lance being able to walk?”

“Yes,” Keith responds, trying not to get too hopeful too quick. “I taught him to walk, and if we give him some clothes he could definitely pass for one of us.” He turns to Allura, hoping his eyes don’t look too desperate. 

Her lip twitches. She sighs. “Alright. We’ll give him a chance.”

Keith visibly deflates, his heart slowing down, finally. 

“Where should we meet with him?” Shiro asks, stepping forward. “We can’t just dock anywhere. It would be too suspicious —”

“Oh, we’ve thought about this,” Pidge perks up. She grins at Keith, before turning to address the group. “We’re only forty clicks out from the island where we found Keith, if my calculations are correct. It’s on the way to where we’re going, too. We should meet there. It’s isolated enough that no one would see us, and Lance feels safe there, so…”

“Alright,” Shiro nods. “We’ll head over now.”

“Now?!” Keith nearly vibrates with anticipation. He wasn’t quite ready for it to be _this_ soon, but he can’t really complain. This entire meeting went a lot better than he anticipated — he thought he’d have to at least argue a while longer. 

“And no guns,” their captain adds, looking over at Allura. “No weapons of any kind. We don’t want to give the wrong idea.”

“Understood,” she responds, back straightening a little. 

“Keith,” Sworld walks toward him and places a steady hand on his shoulder. “Tell him we’re coming.”

Keith nods, desperately trying to think straight. “I will.”

 _ **3**_  
_“Just yesterday mornin', they let me know you were gone_  
_Suzanne the plans they made put an end to you_  
_I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song_  
_I just can't remember who to send it to”_

“Oh my god, Keith, why are you listening to your depressing dad music today of all days?!”

“It’s not depressing. It’s beautiful,” Keith says, pouring milk into espresso and topping it off with a heart. 

“I thought you’d be all fuckin’ giddy, or whatever, given that —”

“Latte?!” Keith calls out into the room, ignoring Katie. Truth is, he’s really excited. But also nervous as fuck. It’s not every day someone you’ve been a pseudo long-distance relationship with comes back home for good. 

Plus, it’s not like he has any clue how he’s supposed to act around Lance after… everything. They haven’t even talked about whether they’re a couple or whatever, mainly because it didn’t seem all that urgent when they were over 2600 kilometres away from one another. Yes, Keith googled the distance. And yes, he remembers. 

Now that they’re gonna be in the same city once again, all their time spent communicating over the phone and through messages feels like some sort of fever dream. Who knows whether things are gonna pick up where they left off? Who knows if Lance will feel the same, once he’s face to face with Keith again?

“You’re nervous,” Katie says, grinning. “Keith Kogane is all fuckin’ nervous over a _boy_ —”

“Shut up,” Keith mumbles, pouting. He hands the latte over to a woman wearing jogging attire and sunglasses, who seems entirely uninterested in their conversation. 

“It’ll be fine,” Katie insists. She leans against the counter next to him. “Trust me. Lance is probably shitting himself right now, too. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“His plane landed this morning, but I haven’t heard from him.” Keith grabs a rag and begins scrubbing invisible marks off the coffee machine. 

“His family is probably totally up his ass right now, don’t worry.”

Keith cringes. “Word choice.”

“Sorry, dude.”

Keith continues scrubbing. He doesn’t really have anything else to say, honestly. He kind of just wants to hear from Lance and be done with it. 

“Kay, I’ll leave you alone. For now.” Katie claps him on the shoulder and returns behind the cash, where a customer is eyeing the menu. 

Keith manages to get his head in the zone for the next little bit. They’re relatively busy, thankfully, and he spends the next couple hours making a lot of coffee and doing dishes in between. Keeping his hands busy is definitely helping a lot — in fact, it’s probably been a while since he’s thought about —

“Hey, Keith.”

Keith’s eyes shoot up from the dish pit to where Lance is standing in front of him on the opposite side of the counter. He’s smiling, looking a tad unsure of himself but happy nonetheless. He's tanned, his hair a little longer and pushed haphazardly out of his face, and he’s wearing a tank top that Keith recognizes from a photo he sent him at some point. He looks really great, honestly. It’s not helping Keith’s nerves one bit. 

“H-hey,” Keith says, dropping the cup in his hand and turning off the faucet. He fumbles a little with the dish gloves, trying to calm his heart pounding in his ears and to remember how to breathe in, and out, and back in again.

“So, uh — I’m back,” Lance starts, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re back,” Keith echoes stupidly, hands gripping the edge of the counter. He forces out a small smile, and Lance appears to relax a little at the sight. 

“Heh, yeah,” Lance grins. “My family’s on the mountain right now, at the park. I figured I’d walk over and ask if you wanted to join whenever your shift ends. We’ll probably be there a while, so —”

“Yeah,” Keith says on instinct. “I’m done at four.”

“Oh! Okay, that’s soon. Great! I’ll, uh, send you a screenshot of where we are, exactly. So you can find us.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” It’s all kind of awkward, but not really in a bad way. Keith’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to behave in front of someone he’s been consistently having phone sex and intense, emotional conversation with for the past few months. His brain is sort of running through a mental list of things he absolutely wants to do to Lance right now, but can’t due to the counter between them and the fact that they’re at Keith’s _workplace_ , of all places. He can’t exactly jump his bones right here, but he’s more than happy to settle for what they’ve got right now. Just seeing Lance again is already setting fire to his skin. He reminds himself that they’ve got time, now. To do whatever it is they’re gonna do. 

“Cool,” Lance says, shuffling from foot to foot. He gestures over his shoulder. “I’m gonna head out now, but see you later?”

“Wait.”

“Yeah,” Lance looks a little scared and a little hopeful. Keith’s not sure what might be going through his head, but what the hell, he figures. 

“Want a drink? Or some pastries, I dunn —”

“Oh, yeah! If it’s not trouble, I mean —” 

“I kinda missed making your shitty oat piss.” 

It comes out of Keith’s mouth without warning, but there’s not much he can do about it when it happens. Maybe his brain was tired of keeping up the pleasant small talk facade. Maybe he just missed the thing Lance’s face does when he’s caught off guard. 

“Wha — HEY,” Lance scowls, gaping at him in disbelief. Keith can’t help but sputter out a few chuckles at the sight of it. “It’s not — YOU drink piss!”

Keith absolutely loses it, gripping the counter for support. It takes him a moment, but Lance starts giggling too. And just like that, any awkward tension and strange expectations dissipate, and Keith almost feels as if Lance had never left at all. Almost. 

Keith bites his lip, trying to compose himself. He shakes his head and begins making Lance’s latte a moment later. 

“You’re — you’re such a shit, Keith, oh my god. I was, like, dying on my way over here, I was so fucking nervous.”

“I could tell,” Keith says, smirking. It’s a complete lie — he’d been too distracted with how nervous he felt to think too hard about how Lance was feeling. 

“Yeah, not like you completely pissed yourself when I came in,” Lance throws back, leaning an elbow on the coffee machine and yelping a moment later, retracting his arm.

Keith squints at him. “What the fuck?” 

“Wow, I really don’t learn, eh?”

“Apparently not,” Keith replies, doing absolutely nothing to mask the fondness in his tone. He steams the milk a moment later, trying hard to focus on not burning himself. When he finishes, Lance is resting his head on his elbow, leaning on the counter and watching him. He grins. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Keith tries to ignore the heat rushing to his face as he pours the milk into the espresso, and completely fumbles the latte art. Well. Fuck. 

“I uh, kinda fucked up,” he says, putting the coffee on the counter. Lance smiles faintly, squinting at it. 

“It looks like a fetus. Or a chode, depending on the angle.”

“Wow. High praise.”

“I’m gonna instagram it,” Lance says, pulling out his phone.

“Wha — NO, just, fuckin’, take the coffee —”

Lance sputters a laugh, putting his phone back in his pocket. He grabs a lid and places it on the cup, his left hand lazily trailing along the counter and brushing against Keith’s. Keith scoots his hand over until his fingers are brushing it back. It feels like the most natural thing to do. 

Lance blushes, looking up at Keith with a hesitant smile on his face. Their fingers sort of entwine, slotting together easily as if this is something they’ve done before. Keith feels too big for his skin, heat pounding in his ears as he squeezes Lance’s hand a little. He realizes he’s thought about doing this countless times. It feels different than he’d imagined. 

“You’re back,” he sort of mumbles. It sounds kind of dumb when it comes out of his mouth, but his brain-to-mouth filter got lost somewhere between the banter and the hand holding. He doesn’t feel scared anymore. He feels something else. 

“Yeah, yeah I am,” Lance says softly, squeezing back for good measure. 

“KEITH!” 

Both men startle, ripping their hands apart to face a very impatient looking Katie at the cash register. 

“You have literally three drinks to make and I have more clients coming in! Go be gay later!” 

She looks over at Lance and waves. 

“Hey, welcome back!”

Lance purses his lips, giving her a little embarrassed wave as he picks up his coffee. “Hey!” He laughs a little, gaze returning to Keith. “See you later?”

“Yeah, see you,” Keith responds, picking up a portafilter and bringing it to the grinder. His eyes trail after Lance as he walks out of the cafe, heart doing a little somersault when Lance shoots him a wink as he disappears from view. 

**_4_**  
Keith feels incredibly small from where he’s stood in the cockpit behind his mother, staring at the expanse of space mapped out on the screen in front of them. There are no windows in the ship, which he feels oddly grateful for. Somehow the idea of seeing how empty space is with his own eyes might make him feel even more insignificant. 

He knows that flying was one of Lance’s favourite things. Maybe if Keith were the one behind the controls, things would be different. But from his perspective, the cockpit feels a tad claustrophobic and the recycled air a little stale tasting. He hopes that this will be the final space flight of his life. He hopes that they’ll manage to make a real, permanent home for themselves on Titan. 

“I’m gonna get a coffee,” he mumbles to his mother, more as an excuse to stop staring at the star map than anything. It’s not helping his nervous jitters, knowing that there’s absolutely nothing around them for millions of kilometers from where they’re flying. 

“See you later,” she responds, eyeing the ship’s controls.

Pidge is already at the machine when he arrives. The front of the coffee maker is pried wide open, and her small fingers are working overtime tinkering with its insides. 

“Keeping busy?” he asks, leaning against the counter next to her.

“Trying not to think about how we’re being hauled across the solar system in a giant metal tube to go live on a moon with methane lakes, yaknow.” 

“When you put it that way…” Keith mutters, smirking. “I wanted a coffee, though. Think it still works?”

Pidge scoffs. “It’ll work twice as efficiently when I’m done with it.”

“So in, like, seven hours?”

“Ugh, fine,” Pidge mumbles, poking at one last thing before closing the front panel of the machine and screwing it shut. “There, I’ll finish later.”

“Thanks,” Keith supplies, grabbing a mug from overhead and placing it under the spout. 

“How’re you feeling?”

“Nervous,” Keith responds almost instantly. “Dunno if it’s the ride itself or where we’re going, honestly.”

“I get that,” Pidge nods, twirling the screwdriver in her hand. 

They remain silent a few moments, but Pidge stays by his side deep in thought. Keith lets his own thoughts wander a little, back to the most recent message Lance had sent him. His voice had been jubilant and warm as he relayed the coordinates of his family’s home in a giant, sprawling domed city called Tyche. He’d briefed them on his schedule — typically, from 900 to 1700 Earth hours four days out of every sixteen-day cycle, Lance works his family’s stand at the farmers’ market. The rest of the time, he’s usually either at their home or labouring at the farm if they need some extra hands. Keith remembers this in detail because he’s listened to Lance’s message over and over again until it became etched in his brain — the sound of it echoing in his head as he drifts off to sleep every night. Keith wanted something to recognize Lance by, and figured his voice would be good enough. 

He loves Lance’s voice. He loves how it gets a tiny bit high and shrill when he’s excited, and drops low when he’s serious. He loves how the pace of his words quickens like his brain is working too fast for his mouth, like he has too many things to say and never enough time. He loves his laugh, though the only version of it Keith has heard was one spoken into a speaker in a message, rather than one borne out of entertaining conversation. He can’t wait to hear that other kind of laugh, if they get there in one piece. 

“ _I’m so fucking excited, Keith, holy shit. I can’t wait to see you and everyone, you have no idea. I can’t — just, stay safe, okay? Come here in one piece._ ”

Lance’s voice had cracked a little bit, like he’d been crying. It was enough to tip Keith over the edge, too, that first time he listened. 

“What’re you thinking about?”

Keith laughs. He shoots Pidge an amused look, not saying anything. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I know you’re thinking about him. I’ve been in your head, you know. I was just asking to make conversation.”

“Yeah.” 

Pidge softens a little, searching his face. 

“You’re so sure of yourself. You’ve never given any of this a second thought.”

“What about you?” 

Pidge knits her brows together, opting to look down at her screwdriver instead. “I wasn’t sure, for a long time... About whether to leave, you know? Even when we were on Ida for a bit I wasn’t sure I made the right decision. I mean, Matt and I had built a whole life there for ourselves. We were given shit but we made it work anyway, for the most part.”

Keith nods, taking his coffee from where it had just finished brewing. He turns and leans against the counter next to her, bringing the cup to his face and inhaling a whiff of its deep, earthy aroma. 

“And now?” 

The corner of Pidge’s mouth twitches a little. 

“It was the best decision we could have made.” She turns to him, eyes locking with his. “It’s a risk, it still is. But I think being on Earth almost made me stop dreaming for something better.”

Keith smiles, taking a sip of his drink. He doesn’t say anything, yet.

“I had moments where I was like, ‘holy shit what did we do,’” Pidge continues. “Ida wasn’t the nicest place. It was weird and dark. I missed the sun, the wind, I dunno.”

“You hate the outdoors,” Keith remarks. 

She snorts. “Yeah. It was familiar, though. You know?”

“Yeah.” Keith worries his lip a little, not realizing he hadn’t thought about how he’d never experience Earth weather ever again. “I honestly hadn’t thought about that.”

Pidge chuckles. “Yeah, and that’s what I’m saying, Keith. You don’t even give a shit, right? You’ll do anything to be with him and if that means never seeing rain again you won’t even think twice. It’s nuts. You must really, really love him.”

Keith bites his lip a moment, swirling his coffee in its cup. “It’s hard to remember what it was like to not know him, if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

“I needed to know I would see him again. Every time he left, I needed to know. Being on my own didn’t make sense anymore.”

Keith feels Pidge’s hand as it reaches over and cups over his on the countertop. 

“I didn’t know how to be happy on Earth. But Lance always saw the light no matter what. Even though his fucking body was taken from him, he still found a way —”

Keith chokes a little, despite himself. He brings a hand to his eyes, wiping them defiantly. 

“He didn’t — he didn’t let it stop him from making connections, from — meeting people, from connecting with people, I don’t know…”

Pidge leans over, nestling herself against his shoulder. She squeezes his hand. 

“How could I not go after him, you know?” 

Keith is vaguely aware that his cheeks are wet. Crying, though, is something that has gotten easier after everything. He’s not afraid of it, now. Especially in front of Pidge.

“You’re gonna marry the shit outta him,” she says after a moment. Keith laughs, shaking his head.

“I don’t even care if I do. I don’t care if might not end up working out, even. I just — I just need to be there with him. That’s all. Everything else is extra.”

Pidge scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. You know I’m right.”

Keith lowers his head to rest on top of hers, nuzzling a little for good measure. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

 ** _1 ****_** ****  
Keith knocks at the door frame of Krolia’s quarters, feeling especially jittery. When she answers, he thinks she can sort of tell. She gives him an almost imperceptible _look_ and ushers him inside. 

“I’m going to Earth,” he says, without bothering to sit down. “Since we’re done here.”

“Alright,” Krolia replies, leaning against her desk. It’s not like this isn’t normal — he’s been to Earth between missions before, of course. Still, something feels different about this time. 

“I’m going to Lance’s,” he adds. It nearly feels like he’s trying to convey _something_ to her, but he’s not quite sure what. Still, he feels like she needs to know. 

“Oh?” his mother cocks her head to the side. “You haven’t seen him in a while.”

“No, he uh — he didn’t want visitors. For a bit.”

“And now?”

“He called yesterday, asking me to visit, so…” he trails off, unsure of what else to say. Lucky for him, Krolia seems to be catching on to whatever the _something_ is that he’s trying to communicate. She smiles almost imperceptibly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He worries his lip. 

“And?” she asks, after a moment, a smirk ghosting her face. 

“I just —” Keith frowns, more at himself than anything. Words are hard, sometimes. “I dunno, I’m kind of… nervous.”

Krolia nods. “Why?”

“I’m going to tell him.”

It spills out of him faster than he thought it would, but it’s there and it’s in the space between them. Keith figures this is a long time coming — they’ve sort of “talked” about it without actually talking about it. He knows his mother knows… _something_ , though he’s never gotten verbal confirmation. So this is it, he guesses. 

“What are you going to tell him?” Krolia asks casually, though her expression seems faintly amused.

“I’m telling him I’m in love with him. That I’ve wanted to be with him for a long time.”

Krolia’s silence is deafening, even more so considering the colossal effort it took to say those words. Keith sort of just waits for a sign, for anything, but she doesn’t say anything at first — opting instead to leave her desk and walk closer to him. 

“And then what?” She asks, smiling more noticeably this time. Her arms are crossed.

“I don’t know,” Keith answers truthfully. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I guess I’ll just come back after.”

Krolia squints. “You’re going to tell him you love him… And then you’re going to leave?”

“Yeah?” Keith scowls. “I don’t know! I didn’t think about that.”

His mother only smiles at him.

“I guess if he doesn’t… love me back, or whatever, I’ll just come back here.”

“And if he does?”

Keith is silent a moment, vaguely aware that his face probably looks like he bit into a lemon. Part of the reason he hadn’t planned that far ahead was because the prospect of Lance actually loving him felt a little ridiculous up until this point. 

Krolia sets a firm hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her, thoughts jerked back to the present. 

“I’m proud of you,” she says, squeezing him a little. “I like him, too. Lance is always welcome here, at the Blade. You can tell him that.”

Keith’s breath hitches, his heart clenching in his chest. He’s not entirely sure why, but the idea that Lance could come back with him almost gives him something to look forward to — he knows it’s only a possibility, but at this point the chance of it is enough to get him itching to leave as soon as possible. 

“Thank you,” he says, before Krolia pulls him into a hug. 

“Stay safe,” she says softly into his ear. “Stay as long as you want. Take all the time you need, there is no rush.”

“I’ll be back in a few days,” Keith says abruptly as they pull away. He doesn’t exactly want to get his hopes up.

His mother sighs. “I have a feeling you won’t be. And I don’t think you need to be nervous, either.”

She leads him to the door as he blinks a few times, trying to wrap his head around her words. 

“Take care, Keith. I love you.”

“Bye, Mom. Love you too.” 

When she shuts the door and Keith finds himself stranded out in the hall, he lets his feet take him to his ship as if on autopilot. His mind goes blank, probably to protect himself from thinking about everything too hard and driving himself insane. He walks faster, and brisker, and before he knows it — he’s running. 

All he knows is that he needs to get out as quickly as possible. He can’t let himself get distracted by anything as he makes a quick stop by his quarters and grabs his travel bag and the box of blue flowers he’d put together the previous morning. Kosmo is already waiting for him in his ship, tail wagging. Keith drops his belongings, placing the flowers into the co-pilot’s seat, and crouches in front of him and gives him a few scratches, allowing his wolf’s calming presence to ease his nerves just a tad. It helps, a little.

He takes off a few moments later, back pressed hard against his seat as he rockets into the expanse of stars before him.

* * *

**_1_ **

_"The Mississippi Delta_  
_was shining like a National guitar_  
_I am following the river_  
_Down the highway_  
_Through the cradle of the civil war"_

Keith sets his ship to autopilot, opting to sit back and try to relax a little while he’s still at cruising altitude. He could be going a lot faster right now, but something’s making him want to stall, just a tad.

_"I'm going to Graceland, Graceland_  
_Memphis, Tennessee_  
_I'm going to Graceland_

He kind of feels like he’s staring out at the edge of a cliff. Like he’s about to do something risky and maybe a little stupid that also happens to light his skin on fire. He may have travelled through space, fought an intergalactic war, and helped save the universe — but he’s never felt more alive than right now. And he’s never been more scared."

_"Poor boys and pilgrims with families_  
_And we are going to Graceland_

Keith’s always been one to face conflict head-on. But when it comes to matters of the heart, he’d thought it best to put his own desires aside for the sake of other people. For Lance’s sake, mostly. Though if he’s being honest with himself, he’s not entirely sure that had been the best course of action. Looking back, it almost felt like lying."

_"My traveling companion is nine years old_  
_He is the child of my first marriage"_

Keith’s spent so much time wondering if Lance would ever love him back. He’s watched his other selves fall in love with him over and over again. And he’s seen what it might be like for Lance to love him, too — if only for a brief, fleeting moment. But it never gave him any real answers, and left him stuck wondering, still, after so much time has passed.

But the strangest part is that when he thinks of Lance — _his_ Lance, that is — and all the time they’ve spent fighting alongside one another, staring death in the face and talking into the night, he realizes that the answer might have been right in front of him all along.

_"But I've reason to believe_  
_We both will be received_  
_In Graceland"_

Lance has loved him this whole time, too. Keith’s almost sure of it, now.

_**3** _

_"There’s a girl in New York City_  
_Who calls herself the human trampoline_  
_And sometimes when I’m f-falling flying_  
_Tumbling t-turmoil I say_  
_‘Woa, so this is what she means’_  
_She means we’re bouncing into Graceland"_

Lance laughs a little after he stumbles over a few words, grinning at his mother as she looks on fondly. His little 9 year-old niece is playing a guitar in his lap, tongue sticking out and fully immersed in the task at hand. Keith sees Veronica in their little circle, biting the tip of her thumb and smirking at her brother as he continues to sing Keith’s favourite song, without even knowing that he’s arrived at the park.

_"And I see losing love_  
_Is like a window in your heart_  
_Well, everybody sees you're blown apart_  
_Everybody sees the wind blow"_

Lance’s eyes lock eyes with his own before he knows it. It doesn't phase him — he keeps singing, a faint smirk apparent on his face as he looks back at his niece, singing her through the chords.

_"Ooh, ooh, ooh_  
_In Graceland, in Graceland_  
_I'm going to Graceland_  
_For reasons I cannot explain_  
_There's some part of me wants to see_  
_Graceland"_

Keith hovers a little closer, still taking care not to alert Lance’s family that he’s here yet. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

_"And I may be obliged to defend_  
_Every love, every ending_  
_Or maybe there's no obligations now_  
_Maybe I've a reason to believe_  
_We all will be received_  
_In Graceland"_

Lance’s niece — Nadia, Keith remembers — strums a couple final chords and taps her hand down on the body of the guitar. Their family erupts into cheers and a large man, probably Lance’s older brother Marco, scoops Nadia up and gives her a hug. Keith smiles at the scene despite himself — it’s not something he’s entirely familiar with having grown up the way he had, but something about seeing how warm and affectionate Lance’s family is makes total sense to him. He feels like the Keith of a few months ago might have backed off, scared of ruining such a display. But this time, he wants to be a part of it.

Lance looks over at him again, grinning and ushering him over. He gets up as Keith joins them, drawing in the eyes of his many family members. 

“Guys, this is Keith!” Lance announces, rushing over and enveloping him in a warm hug. Keith startles a second, not entirely sure what to do with his hands before allowing them to drape gently around Lance’s back. It only lasts a second though — Lance pulls away, turning to the side and placing a firm hand on Keith’s lower back, leading him further toward their group. It feels as if his hand is burning a hole in Keith’s spine — he’s almost embarrassed, but Lance’s family doesn’t seem phased at all. 

“Keith,” a short, sturdy, slightly above middle-aged woman with a full head of wavy hair approaches him. She must be Lance’s mother. “Leandro’s told us so much about you, It’s so good to meet you, finally.”

When she grips Keith’s hands in her own, his head starts spinning because _”Leandro”? What the fuck?_ Also, what _has_ he told them? 

Keith blushes furiously as he gets passed around the circle from Lance’s mother to his father to his brother Marco and Marco’s wife Mercedes, side-eyeing Lance occasionally with mounting panic on his face. Lance seems completely entertained by the sight and lets it happen with a wide grin on his face. The bastard.

When he gets to Veronica, the last person in the group, she winds her arms around him tightly and leans her face near his ear. 

“If you hurt my baby brother I will personally kill you.” 

Keith tenses in shock as she pulls off, smiling sweetly at him and squeezing his shoulder. 

“Uh,”

“I’m kidding, Keith,” Veronica adds after a couple incredibly tense seconds. “That was for the milk thing.”

Keith squints before realization dawns on him. The milk thing was, like —

“That was _months_ ago!”

“And now we’re even,” Veronica says, winking. She giggles, leading him back toward Lance. 

“Keith, uh, I’m gonna get water at the fountain. Join me?” Lance asks, gesturing over his shoulder with a water bottle. Keith nods, aware that he must look exactly like a deer in the headlights of a fast moving vehicle. He trails after Lance down the grassy hill toward the fountain.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” Lance says once they’re out of earshot. “That’s not even everyone — Rachel and Luis are at Abuela’s right now.”

“It’s okay,” Keith says, offering him a small smile. His brow furrows after a moment. “Also, how did I not know your actual name?”

Lance cackles, turning toward Keith and stopping in his tracks. “Oh man, I totally forgot!”

“You forgot your own name?”

Lance runs a hand down his face, grinning. “My full name is ‘Leandro Alejandro Nunez Cuesta-Espinosa.’”

Keith blinks. “Uh, that’s —”

“Super extra, I know.” Lance snorts, taking Keith’s hand in his like it’s nothing. “‘Lance’ is an acronym. My siblings coined it when I was a kid.”

Keith chuckles. “And you didn’t want to tell me?”

“I forgot! No one calls me Leandro except my mom sometimes.”

It feels like Keith’s face is permanently glued into a smile. His cheeks sort of hurt, but he can’t help it — and he can’t look away from Lance either, too engrossed in the way the sun is shining through his hair, how his skin is a little dewy and luminous in the humidity, highlighting his collarbone like something carved delicately out of clay. He doesn’t feel real — Keith’s been imagining what it would be like to see him again over and over since he left. And now that they’re together, standing in front of each other, hands locked together like they do this all the time, he’s kind of at a loss for what to do with himself. 

The past few months of long messaging sessions and phone calls feel like a strange fever dream he was jolted out of. He needs to remind himself that it was real, somehow.

“What are you thinking?” Lance asks after a second, searching his face. He takes a step forward, his face only inches from Keith’s.

“I just —” Keith sighs, a little shaky. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but it’s like something is fighting to escape his throat, making him brim with emotion he didn’t realize he was carrying.

“Hey, hey,” Lance mumbles softly, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his face in Keith’s hair, just a little bit. His thumbs trace small circles in Keith’s back.

He brings his arms around Lance after a few seconds’ delay, allowing himself to melt into the hug and bury his face in his neck. When he inhales, he can only smell the scent of Lance’s detergent and deodorant, a faint sweaty musk lingering in the background and not at all unpleasant. It’s like Keith’s brain catches up with the moment, and finally realizes that Lance is _here_ and he’s _real_ and he’s back for good. And that everything up until this point was only the beginning.

“You’re back,” he mumbles sort of pathetically against the column of Lance’s neck. When Lance laughs in response, his voice sounds a little choked too.

“Yeah,” Lance says softly into his hair. “Yeah, finally, fuck.”

Keith pulls away after a moment, Lance’s hands still resting on his arms as he pushes his hair out of his face and sniffles once or twice. “I’m good,” he says, nodding. “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t have time to collect himself, though, because Lance reaches his hand over and holds his cheek, thumb grazing his jaw. 

Their eyes lock, and something akin to nervousness flitters across Lance’s gaze. “You — can I —”

“Mhm,” Keith manages to get out before leaning in, locking their lips together and pulling Lance forward with a hand wrapping around his neck. The kiss is chaste yet firm, the culmination of months of waiting and sharing and missing and waiting some more, all of it over now. All of it in the past. Lance’s fingers run up into Keith’s hair and grip at the root, pulling him even closer. It’s a tad overwhelming, but Keith lets himself sink into it and inhale the stuttered breaths mingling between them. 

When it’s over, Lance pants into his mouth a moment and pulls back, face incredibly open and bright as the sky above them. He looks so _happy_ and the fact that _Keith_ is the one who did that makes his heart skip in his chest. 

“This is it, right? Like —” Lance worries his lip. “We’re doing this, eh?”

“Yeah,” Keith giggles, unable to help it.

“Okay, okay, good good,” Lance rambles, bobbing his head. “I just — I dunno, I wanted to hear it from you. Cause like — is it, like, too intense to say I’m kinda… falling in love with you?” Lance’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh god, okay, no, that sounded so awkward I’m so sorry —”

“You already said it once,” Keith interrupts. He bites his lip, trying not to smirk too hard at Lance’s expense. Sue him. Lance is really endearing.

“WHAT?! I did? When?” Lance claps a hand over his mouth.

“When you drunk called me that one time.”

“Oh my goooood,” Lance groans, shielding his eyes from Keith’s gaze. He muffles a laugh into his wrist, shaking his head a little. “I’m such a mess.”

“I, uh, love you. Too.” Keith feels incredibly awkward when it comes out of his mouth, all stilted like a fucking answering machine greeting. But it’s okay because Lance is grinning widely and stupidly, peaking at Keith from between his long fingers and laughing incredulously at how weird and new and wonderful everything is. 

“Wow, alright,” Lance grins, dropping his hand and grasping Keith’s with it. He runs a thumb over his knuckle. “That’s good because my family’s been referring to you as my boyfriend for weeks, now.”

“What?!” Keith gasps, rattled.

“What? It was easier to explain than ‘some dude I destroyed my data talking to all the fucking time.’”

“Okay, fine.” Keith grins. “So, we uh going back there?”

“Yeah,” Lance purses his lips. They start walking back to the group, Lance’s water bottle still empty and forgotten. “Trust me, I kinda wanna be alone with you right now but my family hasn’t seen me for months and they’d probably murder me if I bailed, so.” 

“It’s cool. I’ll stick around and maybe… we could hang out later? At mine?”

“Howabout my place?” Lance perks up, turning to Keith. “I haven’t seen Hunk yet. We could invite Katie and watch a movie and you can stay over, if you want.”

“Sounds great,” Keith grins, this time being the first one to reach a hand out and take Lance’s fingers, curling them together as they make their way back up the hill.

. . .

“Dang, long day,” Lance mutters after flopping back onto his bed in only his boxers. Keith doesn’t hesitate to whip his own shirt off and crawl in beside him, arms wrapping around Lance’s torso and pulling him in. He thumbs Lance’s happy trail and kisses his shoulder before trailing his lips up to Lance’s neck, letting instinct take over. 

“Keith?”

“Buh?” His head shoots up, eyes kind of glazed over with a cocktail of fatigue and desire.

“Can we, uh, just cuddle? For tonight?” Lance bits his lip shyly. “It’s just, I was on a plane at, like, 6 this morning and I’m kinda exhausted from today.” His eyes are still a little puffy from when he fell asleep on Keith’s shoulder during the movie.

“Yeah, uh, yeah of course,” Keith stutters out, whipping his head out of _that_ zone. “It’s cool, we have tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Lance says, tired eyes still trailing over Keith’s face as he sinks further into his pillows. “We’ve got time,” he mumbles while resting a hand over Keith’s cheek, bringing him close enough that their noses brush. 

Keith leans in a little further, smiling against Lance’s mouth. They exchange a quick, chaste peck before Lance hums in approval, eyes closed and body shifting in the sheets to get comfortable. He’s out cold in only a few more seconds.

Keith settles in next to him as close as possible, one hand reaching down to hold Lance’s. He’s not sure if it’s supposed to serve as a reminder for Lance or for himself, but it feels right — all of it feels right. Content and more at peace than he’s felt in a very, very long time, Keith lets himself slip away as well to the sound of the occasional car driving by the window, and Lance’s breaths in his ear.

 ** _2_**  
Keith steers his frigate toward the island, just visible on the horizon. A few hours prior, he’d told Lance they would meet him there and welcome him aboard. He knows that getting Lance to trust Shiro and Allura won’t be all that simple, and might take a lot of time and work and effort on everyone’s part. But it’ll be worth it, he believes. Because it had taken meeting Lance for Keith to break out of his shell — to accept and welcome his crewmates into his orbit, to consider them his friends. Or family, even. And Keith can’t imagine a found family like his without Lance’s inclusion. It simply wouldn’t make any sense. 

Shiro’s ship trails behind him, with just enough distance between them to allow Keith a few minutes alone with Lance. He’s not entirely sure what he’s going to do with those minutes, save giving him some spare clothes so as to not shock the entire crew upon first meeting. 

Keith knows what he _wants_ to do with that short amount of time. Some voice at the back of his mind is telling him that it’s okay, that there’s a chance Lance might feel the same way he does. But Keith’s never been particularly good at reading other humans, and Lance technically isn’t even human in the first place. So he pushes it back and tries to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand: getting to Lance and welcoming him aboard in one piece. He tries not to let his expectations stray away from that.

He anchors the frigate right near the shore and gets off, wading through the water toward the beach and carrying a small bundle of clothes. The island is just as lush and bright as he remembers, the water calm as when he first woke up next to Lance, seeing him for the first time. This time, however, Lance is nowhere to be seen. Keith squints, searching the water for any sign of a deep blue tail or a mess of wet brown hair to no avail. A knot forms in the pit of his stomach, some irrational part of himself concerned that Lance will bail. _He won’t_ , Keith reminds himself. He said he would be here.

A breeze surrounds him, ruffling both his loose shirt and the greenery behind him, moving his braided hair against his back. He sets down the bundle at his foot, crossing his arms and digging his fingers into his forearms. He keeps looking, squinting at the brightness of the sun reflected off the clear, bright blue surf, Shiro’s ship still a ways away. _Any minute now,_ he reminds himself. Any second. 

Just then, he sees a head bob up in the water probably half a click out. _Keith!_ he hears in his head, startling him away from his worries and into the present moment. Lance dives beneath the waves for a moment, resurfacing closer to the shore only seconds later. And before he can think, before he can even consider what he should be doing, Keith starts running.

He doesn’t need to run far, reaching the sea in only a couple seconds. He splashes as quickly as he can through shallow water and stumbles, despite his best efforts to remain upright, forward onto his hands and knees. A pair of hands are there in an instant, catching him before his face can hit the waves. 

Lance pulls his face up, hands tangling in the loose tufts of his hair framing his face. He looks absolutely relieved and elated, holding Keith’s gaze with a wide grin on his face, his tail wrapping itself around and over his shins as they dig into the sandy seabed. Instinctively, Keith brings his own hands to Lance’s face — smoothing his wet hair back. His heartbeat quickens, throat going dry at the sight of Lance’s gaze flickering all over his face as if to take it all in. 

Chest heaving with heavy breaths, Keith pulls Lance in until their foreheads touch. Too close to see anything now, he closes his eyes and takes in the salty smell radiating off his friend, the feel of Lance’s tail wrapping itself around him almost protectively, the tug of his hands in Keith’s hair. 

_Do humans kiss?_

His eyes jolt open. He leans back slightly in shock, meeting Lance’s nervous expression with wide eyes. Sensing Keith’s mild panic, Lance begins to let go of him, moving to increase the distance between them.

_I’m sorry, I —_

“No, no don’t go —” Keith interjects, pulling Lance close again and slotting their lips together. Lance’s fingers dig into his hair, rubbing comfortingly against his scalp while his tail tightens even harder against Keith’s body, pushing their chests flush against one another. Keith sighs into it, tasting the salt on Lance’s lower lip and a few moments later, on his tongue. 

It’s overwhelming. It’s as if the physical distance between them was simultaneously the only thing stopping them from colliding like this, and the final thing that brought them here in the first place. If it weren’t for the distance, Keith wouldn’t have realized how much Lance had started meaning to him, how important he’d become. 

When their lips part with a _smack_ , Lance looks at him with somewhat of a bewildered, mischievous smirk. Before Keith knows it, he’s being pushed toward the shore line onto his back. His legs are still underwater, and Lance settles himself between them — leaning in and taking Keith’s mouth in his own once again. 

_I missed you_ , Lance says to him without needing to stop the kiss.

 _I missed you too_ , Keith replies effortlessly, wordlessly. 

_I missed being able to touch you_ , Lance projects, and Keith groans involuntarily against his mouth, his brain completely fogged with want.

“I knew it,” says a third person’s voice, violently waking Keith from his trance. Lance pulls off and rolls over in an instant, raising himself on straight arms to catch his breath. Keith looks up, met with the sight of Pidge stood on the beach smirking at them, arms crossed. Hunk is positioned just behind her, blushing furiously. 

“I, uh —” Keith stammers, wide eyes darting between them. 

_Pidge! Hunk!_ Lance pushes himself upward, his tail disappearing in an instant to make way for a pair of legs. He runs to them excitedly, arms wide, and wraps them both in a tight hug. 

_So good to meet you like this!_ Lance says, unphased. Pidge and Hunk tentatively hug him back, both clearly cognizant of how _naked_ Lance definitely is. 

Keith shakes himself, willing himself to get up. “Uh, Lance, you need clothes,” he says, scrambling for the bundle he’d brought with him. 

_Oh._ Lance pulls back, a little confused. He looks down at his — yep, his dick — and at Keith.

“Here,” Keith says, completely avoiding all forms of eye contact as he hands over a pair of trousers. Lance takes them and scrunches up his face, appraising them from several angles.

“Buddy, uh, everyone else isn’t far behind,” Hunk starts. “You might wanna —”

 _Where do my legs go?_ Lance asks, peeking through one of the pant legs with his lips pursed. 

It takes them a little longer than Keith expected, but they do manage to help Lance into his pants — Keith pulling them open at the waist and directing Lance’s legs through, Hunk and Pidge helping him stay balanced on one leg at a time. It’s kind of funny, but Keith’s having a little trouble appreciating it thanks to the whiplash that came with all the kissing and the interruption and the gymnastics his heart is doing as he tries his best to stay composed. 

When they’re done, Lance looks surprisingly _human_ stood next to them, chatting idly with Hunk and Pidge. Keith hopes it will be enough to convince Allura and Shiro that this is a good idea. 

When Coran, Shiro, and Allura finally arrive, they kind of keep a safe distance. Keith doesn’t blame them — it’s a weird situation, all things considered, and he thanks his lucky stars that they hadn’t been the ones to walk in on what he and Lance had been doing only a couple minutes prior. 

True to their word, they aren’t carrying any weapons. Allura seems uneasy, Shiro stone-faced and serious as if this were some sort of professional meeting. Lance worries his lip, eyes darting between them. 

_Hello,_ he projects, breaking the ice. He’s standing a little awkwardly, body not entirely turned to face them almost to shield himself from any potential threats. 

“Lance,” Shiro starts, stepping forward and offering out his left hand. “It’s good to meet you.”

Lance stares at it, all perplexed. He probably doesn’t know what handshakes are, Keith figures. Before he can say anything, though, Lance offers out his own hand in the exact same position as Shiro, hovering in the air just a few inches away. He looks at Keith, a little confused, as if for reassurance.

Keith clears his throat. “Uh, I don’t think Lance has ever shook hands before.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, surprised. He quickly lowers his hand, furrowing his brow. 

_I’ll explain what that was later,_ Keith relays to Lance. _Just a human custom. No big deal._

 _Okay,_ he hears Lance say. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Shiro starts, “and offer you an apology.”

Lance raises an eyebrow.

“I know you saved Keith’s life. He told us everything. I wouldn’t have acted so hostile had I known that in the first place, and I regret making you feel like you wouldn’t be able to trust us. Keith is very important to us, and we were worried for his safety.”

 _Keith is important to me too,_ Lance relays, a little defiantly. He stands up straighter, turning to face Shiro head-on. _I would never hurt him. Or any of you. I know how much he cares about his family._

Allura softens at that. She looks at Keith, a glimmer of understanding and sympathy in her eyes. She steps forward. 

“I would also like to offer my sincerest apologies for how I acted when we first met you. I grew up hearing such awful things about sirens that I let my assumptions dictate my behaviour, and I am so very sorry for that.”

Lance nods.

_I accept your apology, but I am not a siren. I am merrow. Sirens are terrible, you should keep avoiding them._

Allura smiles. “Perhaps you can teach us more about merpeople once you are aboard the ship. I’m sure we would all appreciate a proper education on the subject.”

“I second that sentiment,” Coran adds. He smiles at Lance in turn, moustache rising a few centimetres. “I look forward to having you aboard.”

Lance smiles, a little hesitant but it’s definitely there. It warms Keith’s heart.

Lance takes a deep breath, as if gearing up to say something important. He levels his gaze at Shiro, stretching his fingers out a little to calm his nerves. _I have something important to tell you, Shiro._

“Yes?” Shiro’s eyebrows rise, his gaze softening. 

_Keith told me you raised him. As his closest family member, I need to make my intentions clear._

Keith tenses. _What the fuck?_

_I intend to mate with Keith, and I want you to be aware of the nature of our relationship before you welcome me aboard. I do not want to keep secrets from you._

Keith chokes on his own spit, violently hacking up his lungs in absolute mortification, his face probably beet red with embarrassment. He’s vaguely aware of the sound of Pidge cackling nearby, wheezing as her laughs rise in volume. 

When Keith finally comes to after Hunk smacks him on the back a couple times, he’s greeted with the sight of everyone’s eyes on him alone. Lance’s gaze is soft and fond, though everyone else is blushing furiously, staring daggers at him. He has legitimately no fucking clue what to say or do. 

“Uh, as long as Keith is okay with that, I don’t see a problem?” Shiro manages to get out. He still looks kind of puzzled, bless his heart, but Keith can tell he’s sincere. “As long as it doesn’t affect the running of our operations.”

 _It will not_ , Lance replies, placing a hand to his chest. _You have my word._

. . .

Once Keith recovers from the whiplash of that entire first meeting, everyone boards Shiro’s ship for dinner. Once aboard, Lance pulls Keith away from the others and places his hands on his shoulders. 

_Are you alright?_ he asks, head tilting to the side. _You were coughing. You sounded ill._

“I’m, uh, fine. I just — I was a little shocked,” Keith admits. “By what you said. About our… relationship.”

Lance’s eyes widen. _Was I wrong? About —_

“No! No, I just… humans aren’t as _open_ about that kind of thing.” 

Lance’s gaze darkens. _Are you ashamed of me?_

“No, that’s not it, at all,” Keith says, reaching to cup Lance’s face in his hands on instinct. “We’re just private sometimes, probably more than merrow are. But it’s okay. I’m — I’m glad you told them. It would have been worse if they found out otherwise.”

He leans in, kissing Lance chastely for good measure. As if to prove it’s okay, that he wants this, too. He takes his hand when they pull apart. 

“Come, let’s have dinner, okay?”

 _Okay_ Lance answers, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

Hunk had prepared a meal of stewed salted fish for everyone, saving some fresh raw fish for Lance. He eats it eagerly, messy as always, and Keith kind of revels in the way everyone tries to act as if everything is normal, as if they’ve never seen a merperson devour raw fish eyeballs before. Keith figures that if they’re going to make Lance feel welcome, he should be allowed to be himself in front of them. And if that means accepting his awful table manners without judgement, then so be it. 

Lance doesn’t like the alcohol served to him. He wrinkles his nose at it, coughing after only a small sip, mumbling something about how it tastes like poison. Keith can’t help but agree, honestly, and he refrains from drinking as well so that Lance feels less alone. 

Despite these small hiccups, Lance fits in rather seamlessly. He doesn’t participate all that much in the dinner conversation, but is evidently paying a lot of attention. Keith can relate, and hypothesizes that maybe Lance will start to feel more comfortable with time. He knows how chatty he can be, and he doesn’t see him holding back forever.

They don’t really discuss where he’ll be sleeping — it’s kind of assumed that Lance can stay in Keith’s quarters. Lance doesn’t object, but insists that he cannot live as a human full-time — that he needs to be able to swim and stay in the water at different points throughout the day. He doesn’t want to lose touch with such an important part of himself. He wants to remember where he came from. 

Pidge and Hunk offer to fashion him a rope ladder to facilitate getting in and out of the water. He seems satisfied with that, albeit a little apprehensive at using a “ladder” given that he’s never really seen one before. Keith offers to teach him, and Lance accepts almost instantly. 

When they retire to Keith’s quarters, Lance rips off his clothes almost instantly and flops down on the bed, pursing his brow in concentration.

 _I need water, Keith_ , Lance says, turning to face him. _Please. I want my tail back, my legs are tired._

Keith obliges, getting a small amount of drinking water from their stores and returning to Lance a minute later. He wets his fingers and touches Lance’s thigh, instantly transforming it back into his long, deep blue, scaled tail. It’s a little odd seeing Lance like this against the backdrop of Keith’s quarters, but it makes his heart to a little sommersault all the same. 

“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” He asks, unbuttoning his shirt. Lance smiles at him lazily, rolling onto his side and propping his head up in his hand. 

_Yes. It feels like home._

“Oh?” Keith raises an eyebrow. He shrugs off his shirt, approaching the bed in only his trousers. “It’s nothing like the sea —”

_It’s yours. I can feel at home anywhere, Keith, as long as we’re together._

Keith’s throat closes up. He freezes, eyeing Lance with what he’s sure is some sort of cocktail of awe and genuine shock. They hadn’t really talked about how they felt yet, and Keith’s not entirely sure he’s ready. If he’d ever be ready.

But that doesn’t seem to matter, because Lance is here right in front of him after everything, telling him that there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. It doesn’t take all that much for Keith to know in his heart that he feels the same, that he’d follow Lance to the far corners of the Earth in a heartbeat. That he wants to be with him, by his side, because nothing else would make sense. 

“How long? Have — have you felt that way, about me?” Keith struggles a little to get out.

Lance makes a small trilling noise, eyes narrowing in thought. His tail flaps slowly, lazily against the bedding. _I’m not sure. Sometimes I think it was that last night we slept by the fire._ He looks up, meeting Keith’s eyes once again. _Sometimes I feel like it was the moment you woke up and saw me, that first time. I wanted to get to know you so badly, and I did not know why._

Keith exhales, stunned. Their eyes lock together for the next few moments, and Keith feels his chest heaving in anticipation of _something_ , not quite sure if he’s ready for it. He’s not quite sure if he really cares whether he is, anyway.

He rests a knee on the mattress, moving his body forward as if on instinct until he’s hovering above Lance, arms planted on either side of him, faces in close proximity now. Lance smiles, eyes bright and genuine as if Keith’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He has no idea how Lance could be looking at him like that, not with how striking Lance himself looks, muscles taut and twitching in anticipation, his tail still shining in the low candlelight of the cabin. 

They collide in an instant, Keith planting his body flush against Lance's, elbows resting on the bed as he digs his fingers into his hair, thumbs grazing his jaw. Their kisses feel far more practiced than he’d anticipate given how they’ve only done it once before, but he supposes they must be on the same wavelength, or something. Telepathy might have something to do with that.

He kind of moves to place hismself between Lance’s legs, forgetting for a second that he doesn’t actually have any. Lance sort of catches on, huffing a laugh in between kisses. He rolls Keith onto his side and breaks them apart for a second, catching his breath.

_Do you want me like this? I can change, I can have legs, if you want —_

“No,” Keith mumbles impatiently, grabbing at him once again and bringing their lips together. “I want you to be yourself,” he adds between kisses. He feels Lance smile against his mouth. 

-  
Once Keith fights himself out of his trousers, they move on instinct. He figures they could probably talk about who might give or receive — you know, general logistical sex stuff — but Keith’s kind of done talking and kind of just wants to rub their dicks together until they’re both sweating, panting messes. It seems like the simplest route, anyway, given Lance’s mildly unfamiliar anatomy and the fact that it’s been ages since Keith himself as had proper, penetrative sex with anyone other than his own three fingers. He doesn’t really want to think, is mostly what he’s getting at, mainly because he’s too impatient to see Lance fall apart in front of him. 

They don’t use their mouths, not this time, because Keith wants to keep his eyes on Lance. He’s enjoying it too much, seeing his facade crumble into something drunk with desire, his pupils wide and dark and lustful, his mouth parted, exhaling hot breath against Keith’s own. Lance makes noises — some of them kind of human, others not, but it doesn’t really matter because they’re pushing him further and further over to the edge. Keith is the first to take them both in his hand, and Lance follows soon after to share some of the work. It doesn’t really feel like work, though. Not when it feels so completely electrifying. 

Keith’s vaguely aware of how loud he is when he finishes, but he’s not embarrassed at all thanks to the louder, kind of unholy piercing sounds coming from Lance’s mouth.  
-

He freezes afterward, kind of shocked and stunned but ultimately completely fine with everything because when he accepted Lance into his heart, he did so knowing he was a strange, kind of terrifying fish person whose body Keith didn't know all that much about. He’s probably going to be learning a lot in the next little while, and he will likely encounter more surprises. But the thought doesn’t scare him at all. In fact, he honestly can’t wait. 

Lance grins at him all tired and spent, and Keith leans over to kiss him soft and languid. They don’t mind the mess just yet, content to revel in the afterglow. Lance brings a hand to his cheek and grazes his jaw just like Keith had done to him a few minutes prior. He’s never felt so warm, so close to anyone in his life — a beautiful, terrifying realization that sinks in to his chest and only makes him want to stay here forever. 

Letting people in, letting people love you, Keith realizes, is an act of bravery. It’s not easy, and it likely won’t stop being terrifying, but it’s worth it if he can feel like this, knowing that by some twist of fate he makes Lance feel the exact same way. And with that newfound knowledge, Keith grins a tired, stupid grin and lets himself drift into sleep.

 ** _4_**  
The market is absolutely buzzing with people of all ages at every stall. It’s outdoors, but also indoors given that they’re inside a domed city with its own makeshift atmosphere. It nearly feels like the outside Keith is used to, but not quite. It’s better than the asteroid, though. It feels more like Earth, with less of the oppressive, suffocating narrowness that came with the city he was raised in.

Pidge and Hunk hover at his sides, taking it all in. He doesn’t pay all that much attention to them, distracted by his quickening pulse and brimming nervous energy. He’s glad his mother offered to sit this one out, opting instead to get their paperwork in order. He probably wouldn’t have been much help, anyway, given how Lance is about all he can think about right now. 

He scans the surroundings as Hunk and Pidge admire some produce at a nearby stall. They’re in the right section, he thinks, but he’s having some trouble trying to distinguish the ambient voices from one another. His right hand fiddles inside his pocket, trying to contain some of the anticipation as he looks at every worker at every stall, trying to see if anything stands out. His left hand clutches a bouquet of blue flowers he bought without much thought a few minutes prior.

They told Lance it would be today. They sent him a message that morning, and left before they could receive a reply. He technically isn’t even sure if Lance is here, given the lack of confirmation. But he’s trying anyway. Why the fuck not.

Keith’s gaze flitters over a lot of unfamiliar faces, stopping inexplicably on one young man about his age behind a stall. He’s not working — someone else is manning the stand and speaking to the customers. Instead, he’s leaning against a post, worrying his lips, trailing his eyes around the crowd without actually focusing on anyone. He’s tall. He’s got brown hair, a handsomely sloped nose, and one hand resting against a cane, from what Keith can make out. His lanky body and tan skin disappear under an open denim button-up and white tank top. He’s familiar. Keith hopes he’s not wrong. 

When he starts hesitantly walking toward him, the man runs a nervous hand through his hair. Keith’s breath hitches, recognizing _exactly_ what that was, knowing where he’s seen that before. He’s seen it so many times, when Lance is feeling vulnerable. When he’s lost in his thoughts.

He starts pushing forward with new found inspiration, muttering a couple half-assed apologies at a few poor souls that happen to be in his way. The man’s eyes float over to him after a moment, and bulge wide in recognition. He’s not wrong, he realizes. He was right from the moment he laid eyes on him.

“Keith!” he yells from where he stands. Keith picks up his pace, shoving himself through with renewed fervor at the sound of a voice he’s never heard in person, but listened to a million times over. The flowers get kind of crushed in the process, but he doesn’t give a shit. He’s only got one singular drive, now.

The man who is probably, definitely Lance doesn’t really move that quickly, which makes sense given the whole cane thing and the fact that there are way too many people in between them. Keith has his sights behind the stall, where there’s space enough to come together without bothering too many folks nearby. Only a few more strides to go.

He surges into the man’s space, letting go of the bouquet and wrapping him in a crushing hug before he can think. He hears the man’s cane clatter to the ground, too. Head delirious with shock, he cups a hand behind his head as their chests heave against one another. He pulls back and smooths some of the man’s hair behind his ears, his gaze searching all over his face — taking it all in. The man is clean-shaven. He’s got a few noticeable freckles on the bridge of his nose. His eyes are dark, grey-blue. 

“Lance?” he mumbles out, his voice kind of small. The man nods, his eyes blinking a few times, brimming with wetness.

“Yeah, it’s me, it’s me —”

“Thank fuck,” Keith grumbles, locking their lips together in one smooth motion. The kiss is the most familiar part — he can feel they’ve done this before, thousands of times. The only difference, though, is that this time Keith can feel real tears on Lance’s cheek mingling with his own. Lance grips onto the back of his shirt, pressing him in further and tilting his head to deepen the kiss. It’s incredible and so, completely and utterly overwhelming.

When they pull apart, Keith presses their foreheads together, his hands still holding Lance’s face in place, fingers sprawled against his face and neck. His eyes are so familiar, oddly enough given Keith’s never actually seen them in person.

“You came,” Lance breathes. “Holy shit, Keith.”

“Of course I did,” Keith manages, chuckling and breathy. He smiles so wide his face hurts. “Easiest decision of my life.”

Lance laughs through happy tears, closing his eyes and reveling in the press of their foreheads together. They stay like that for a while, blind to the hustle and bustle around them, content to spend this moment in their own little world, just the two of them. 

. . .

They go to Lance’s family home for the rest of the afternoon. When Hunk and Pidge catch up with them, Lance shrieks and wraps Hunk in a bear hug, brimming with tears once again. On the way to his place, Lance never lets go of Keith’s hand — holding onto it like a lifeline. Keith has absolutely nothing to complain about. 

The afternoon passes by in a blur of emotion. Lance and his mother, Maria, live in a penthouse apartment just above the multi-level farm they own. Maria greets Keith like a member of her own family, fawning over him and hugging him tight. She says Lance has told him so much. She says she can’t imagine a better partner for her son. 

They eat homemade empanadas and drink fresh mango juice. It’s a little different tasting than Earth food, but Keith enjoys it all the same. They talk about their journey — about leaving Earth, about Ida, about big risks and even bigger rewards. Lance never lets go of Keith. 

A few hours pass. Pidge and Hunk pass out on the couch, exhausted from the jetlag. Maria leaves to help their employee shut down the stall, insisting that Keith gets some rest as well. 

They retire to Lance’s room. Keith walks around, taking all of it in — the patchwork collage of different parts of Lance’s life scattered along the walls. He notes the family photos on his desk, the posters of space on the walls, the flight school graduation photo next to the window. 

“They always kept it just like I left it,” Lance says, slipping onto the bed. “Ever since I left for work.” He smiles, a little sadly, and points at one photo on his desk. “That’s me and my Pa with the biggest cucumber we ever grew.” He chuckles. 

“Where’s your dad?” Keith wonders out loud. He hopes he’s not overstepping. 

Lance sighs, his small smile not leaving his face. He’s still staring at the photo. “He passed away a few months ago, a little after I came back. It was kinda sudden.”

Keith’s breath hitches. “I’m so sorry —”

“It’s okay, really. If I hadn’t made it off Earth when I did, I might have missed him. I’m just happy I got to say goodbye."

Keith nods taking a seat next to Lance on the bed. He wraps an arm around him, guiding Lance’s head onto his shoulder. He nuzzles his face in Lance’s hair, inhaling his scent and closing his eyes. Lance toys with his fingers on his thigh. They sit in silence a while, content to just experience the warmth of their bodies pressed together, their near-synchronized breaths. For the first time ever, it doesn’t feel as if they’re living on borrowed time. It feels like they have all the time in the world. 

Keith ends up falling asleep on Lance’s chest. He passes out, limbs heavy from travel, to the sound of Lance’s breath and the feel of it in his hair. 

. . .

“Hey sunshine,” Lance greets. Keith blinks his eyes open, focusing them on his partner’s face. 

“How long was I out?”

“About a couple hours,” Lance replies easily, carding a hand through Keith’s hair. “Hunk and Pidge are still asleep. You can guys can stay the night, it’s getting late. 

“Sure,” Keith mumbles. He looks up to meet Lance’s gaze and smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Lance grins, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. He rests his nose against Keith and chuckles lightly. “Still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Me neither.” Keith puts a hand to Lance’s hip and pulls him over, slotting their legs together. He kisses his neck once, twice, and keeps going as if running on autopilot, unable to stop. Lance digs his hands in Keith’s hair and pulls back, only to bring their lips together. It’s hungry — all of it. Keith can barely contain his excitement. 

-  
There’s no rush this time. They make out long and hard, grinding against one another and exploring each others’ mouths like it’s the first time. When Lance leans back to take off his shirt, Keith takes a moment to appreciate all of him. He runs his hands along the lean plain of Lance’s chest, marveling at how it expands and contracts, pulsing with life. He thumbs his nipple, making Lance’s breath hitch in his throat. They don’t hold back after that. 

It’s amazing. It’s so much better than every other time before. It’s warm, and soft, and wet and perfect and Lance is blinking back tears. When Keith starts riding him proper, he lets out a choked sob. 

“Are you okay?” Keith whispers into his ear, slowing down.

“Yes, yes, please,” Lance pants, running his hands down his back. “Keep going, please, it’s amazing, you’re amazing —”

Lance babbles through it all, making Keith more delirious by the minute. He feels himself choking with emotion as they both come and fall back onto the mattress, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and all-encompassing happiness. Keith laughs against Lance’s mouth, nuzzling their noses together and kissing him for good measure. Lance rests a hand on his cheek.  
-

“Can we do that again? Like, soon?” Lance asks, laughing. 

“No,” Keith deadpans. He breaks out into a tired grin, muffling a laugh right after. He presses their faces together, kissing him a few more times before sleep takes over.

 ** _1_**  
Keith's ship touches down in the juniberry field. After the war, Lance and his family had brought over seeds from new Altea and scattered them around Marco’s farm. The wind rustles when Keith steps out, sending ripples of pink flowers across the expanse before him. 

The flowers make him think of Allura. He hopes he has her blessing, wherever she is, for what he’s about to do. Something in the back of his mind makes him feel a little silly for thinking she would ever object.

He breathes, trying to calm his nerves as he makes his way to the main house, Kosmo trotting by his side, occasionally rolling in the grass. He carries the box of flowers under one arm. 

He stops on the porch, taking one final breath to calm his nerves before he knocks. But before he can, the door swings open — and Keith finds himself facing Acxa and Veronica right on the other side. 

“Uh,” he manages, stunned. 

“Keith?” Veronica smirks. “What’s up?”

“Acxa? I thought —”

“I did not know you were coming to Earth, either,” she interrupts, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. 

Keith looks to Veronica, and back at Acxa, and back at Veronica again. “Oh,” he says, finally, raising an eyebrow. Acxa blushes deeper. 

She opens her mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by a child's shriek. 

“TIO KEEF!” Sylvio yells, running into Keith’s legs. He staggers back with a small “oof.”

“We’re going to pick tomatoes!” Nadia adds, joining her brother in hugging Keith’s legs. “Do you want to come?”

“I think Tio Keith wants to go see Tio Lance first, kids,” Veronica interjects, smirking. She trails an eye at the box at Keith’s hip. Keith blushes. “He’s in the greenhouse,” she adds. 

Keith lets Kosmo follow the kids to the tomato patch, and turns toward his own destination. The walk to the greenhouse feels like a dream. Keith’s mind is completely blank, conscious only of the feel of the grass against his jeans. He tries to ignore the hard beating in his chest. Being nervous won’t change anything, now. 

He rests a hand against the glass pane of the door once he reaches it. There, just a few metres away, Lance is squatting down and preening some turnips. A straw hat is hanging off his neck on his back, his hands dusted with soil. His lips are pursed in concentration, and his altean marks are just visible against his cheekbones. 

Keith sighs, taking one final deep breath to calm his nerves before pushing open the door. 

Lance’s head whips his head around to face him. His expression lights up, a wide toothy grin spreading out across his face. “Keith!” he calls, standing up and brushing his hands against his jeans. He takes a couple steps forward, and stops in his tracks at the sight of the box in Keith’s hand. “What’s that?”

“I, uh —” Keith manages eloquently, looking at the box like he kind of forgot it was there. “I brought... flowers,” he says, a hopeful note in his voice. Lance tilts his head. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” Lance repeats, as if he couldn’t have possibly heard right. He walks over and takes the box in his hands, staring blankly at the blue flowers behind the clear panel. “Why?”

Keith bites his lip, unsure of what to say. _Because I’m in love with you,_ rings in his head. “I thought you’d like them,” he mumbles instead.

“They’re beautiful,” Lance breathes. He looks back up at Keith, searching his face. Keith can’t begin to decipher his expression — he looks more shocked than anything. “You brought me flowers,” Lance echoes after a moment, searching Keith’s face. 

Keith stares back, eyes locked on Lance’s. He looks like he’s waiting for _something_ , though Keith has no idea what. He only bites his lip, the pounding in his heart quickening. 

“Keith are you —” Lance squints, taking in a sharp breath. “What are you trying to say?”

“I missed you,” Keith answers on instinct. It’s honest, though not completely. His hands twitch at his sides. 

Lance places them down gently on his gardening cart, eyes never leaving Keith. He takes a hesitant step forward. Keith stays planted in one place. 

“I wanna hear you say it, Keith. Come on, I know — I think I know what you’re thinking, but I can’t know unless you —”

“I love you.”

“ _Shit_.” 

Lance surges forward and pulls at Keith’s face, dirty fingers running through his hair as he slips their mouths together, sucking at Keith’s bottom lip. He runs his hands up Lance’s back, tugging into Lance’s shirt and pressing them together further. He can barely process, barely think — only aware of Lance’s body, of his breath, of his mouth against his own. It’s both familiar and completely unlike anything Keith had ever dreamed of. It’s realer than anything he’s ever felt in his life. 

Lance lets go of him, panting. He stares at Keith, wide-eyed, and reaches two shaky hands forward, grabbing Keith’s own. He runs a thumb over his knuckles, looking down at their hands together, and back up at Keith’s face, apparently too stunned to say anything else. Keith feels exactly the same.

“I — are we — Keith, what?” Lance stammers between breaths. 

“What?” Keith echoes, kind of dumbly. 

“Was that — what are we —”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Keith starts, figuring he at least owes him some kind of an explanation.

“How long?” is all Lance responds with. Keith sighs. 

“A long time. Since the war, before it ended. But I wasn’t ready to tell you.”

“I didn’t — I didn’t wanna believe it,” Lance stammers, gripping his hand tightly. “I didn’t think — I couldn’t wrap my head around it, but I think I felt it, I did. I’m — Keith, I’m so so sorry.” He sniffles.

“What? Why?”

“For not realizing it sooner,” Lance breathes, taking a step forward and resting their foreheads together. “I love you, too. I love you _so_ much. You have no idea.”

Keith feels his eyes well up, his throat tightening. He sniffs back a sob and wraps Lance in a tight hug, his eyes still wide with shock. 

They stay like that, clinging together for dear life for what could be seconds or minutes, Keith has no idea. At a certain point, though, he’s reminded of the fact that he promised himself he’d tell Lance _everything_ — including the visions in the abyss. He breathes, a little shaky, and pulls himself back before he can get too invested. There was still so much left unsaid. 

“Look, I just — I need to tell you some things.”

Lance looks at him, blinking. “There’s more?”

Keith huffs out a dry laugh. “There’s a lot more. But it’s — it’s a lot, we should sit down.”

“Okay?” Lance responds, brow furrowing with concern. “Is it good or bad? Keith, you’re kinda freaking me out.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

Lance takes a step back, removing his hands from Keith as if stung by a fire. He rubs his elbow. “Uh, okay, I can get us some iced tea and we can sit on the porch, that good?”

“I don’t wanna be interrupted,” Keith adds. “Somewhere private?”

“Okay,” Lance breathes. “We can go to my place. No one will bother us.”

“Okay.”

Keith makes his way to the tiny guest house in silence, just off to the side of the main house. It’s mainly just a small living area with a kitchenette and a loft-style bed overhead. Keith takes a seat on the small sofa, his back leaning against the window. He has absolutely no fucking clue how he’s going to explain everything. But he’s going to try, because Pidge was right. Lance deserves to know everything. 

He tucks his feet onto the cushions under him. Only a moment later, Lance arrives with two glasses of iced tea. He places them on a side table and brings it over to the couch before settling in next to Keith. The tiny loveseat only leaves a foot of room between them. Lance seems hesitant to bridge the gap. 

“So?” Lance says, pulling one leg up to his chest, his knee right by his face. “What’s up?”

Keith takes a deep breath and looks away.

“I didn’t only have visions about my past when I was in the Abyss.”

Lance squints. “What? So, you saw the future, too?”

“No, not really,” Keith mutters, playing with a loose thread in his jeans. “I saw myself in other realities. In three others.”

Lance takes a sharp inhale. He doesn’t look hugely surprised — probably given the shit they’ve already been through, this doesn’t seem all that nonsensical. Still, though, there’s so much more left to say.

“I saw all of us, really. My mom, Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, Coran, and Allura. And you.”

Lance nods.

“I watched myself fall in love with you in all three.”

“What?” Lance gasps, almost a whisper. “What do you mean?”

“I — fuck,” Keith mutters running a hand through his hair. “I know it sounds insane, but it’s what happened. There was one where I worked in a coffee shop with Pidge, and you would come in and get drinks and you were friends with Hunk. And another one where you were an android and you had a different body every time we saw each other.”

“The fuck?” Keith looks up, only to find an incredulous expression plastered on Lance’s face. The most surprising part, though, is he’s smiling. “What the actual fuck?”

“I know, right?” Keith huffs, letting himself smile too. “There was also one where you were a merman, and you saved —”

“WHAT?!” Lance leans forward on instinct, eyes bulging in their sockets. His hands rise to grip his hair. “I WAS A MERMAN?”

“Uh, yeah —”

“Oh my GOD that’s SO COOL! What did my tail look like?”

Keith scowls, unable to help it. “I’m — what? Why do you care?”

“KEEEITH! It’s like, my childhood dream! Holy SHIT!” He reaches over and tugs at the sleeve of Keith’s jacket. “Was it blue?!”

Keith jerks his arm away. “Wha — what are you, _five_?”

Lance grins. “It was blue, wasn’t it?”

“Okay, yes. It was blue. Happy?”

“Fuck yessss!” Lance fist pumps the air. Keith can’t help but sputter out a laugh. 

“You’re — you’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one in love with me, so what does that say about you?” Lance winks at him. He shuffles closer and wraps an arm around Keith, who rolls his eyes in response. He can’t help but lean into it, though.

“Is that it?” Lance asks after a moment.

“I mean, yeah? Sorta,” Keith worries his lip. “A lot happened, in each reality. Some of it’s kind of fuzzy, but I remember the jist.”

“Well, we’ve got time,” Lance grins, reaching for his drink. 

“You sure it’s cool? It’s just… how are you so cool with everything?”

Lance pauses a moment, his glass hovering in front of his mouth. He sighs, putting it down and facing Keith once again.

“Okay, look, I just — I’m really happy right now, Keith. I’m happy you want me, okay? I’m happy you’re finally here, and I get to see you and I get to be with you. You could probably tell me anything right now and I’d be cool with it, alright?”

Keith hums. He doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Okay, okay,” Lance says, placing both his hands on his knees. He takes a deep breath. “I should probably come clean too, right? Since that’s what we’re doing and everything. I was really torn up, when I came back home, you know? I needed some time to grieve, and to let Allura go, and everything. And I felt really guilty, and it really ate me up, because I was in love with you and I felt like I was betraying her memory by moving on so quickly.”

Keith’s breath hitches. He stares at Lance with wide eyes, probably looking more confused by the second.

“We can talk about your weird adventure through the multiverse, I promise — I really, _really_ wanna hear about it, but I also feel like I need to be honest right now.” He looks at Keith with sincere eyes and rests a hand on his thigh. “I’m so sorry I worried you when I went off the grid. Really, I am. But I needed to because I needed to sort myself out. I needed to realize that there was no point in holding back, and that Allura wouldn’t want that for me. She only wanted all of us to be alive and happy, you know. That’s all she wanted.”

Keith nods, suddenly overcome with emotion. He purses his lips together and leans his head on Lance’s shoulder, interlocking their fingers on his thigh. “I miss her.”

“I miss her too. All the time. And I know she was part of the reason you waited so long to tell me, Keith, I figured that out already, kay? I understand.”

Keith nods, nosing the dip between Lance’s collarbone and neck. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Lance huffs out a laugh. “You’re so dramatic. Don’t thank me, it only makes sense.”

“I’m not dramatic!” Keith pulls back, scowling. 

“You’re _extra_ dramatic, Keith,” Lance giggles. “You seriously didn’t know whether it would be good or bad for me to find out that I’m a hot merman in another reality? Or a hot android?”

“I never said you were hot,” Keith deadpans.

“You didn’t need to, I _know_ I’m hot, buddy.”

“You’re seriously gonna keep calling me ‘buddy?’”

“Duh!” Lance raises his arms, exasperated. “We can be buddies and be in love, it’s the fucking 22nd century!”

A smile pokes through Keith’s facade. He shakes his head, sputtering out a chuckle. 

“Okay, okay,” Lance placates, leaning back in his seat and bringing his legs up to his chest once again. “Go ahead. Tell me everything. Where did Keith number two meet my merman body double?”

Keith caves, telling Lance everything he remembers. He tells him about watching himself drown, and teaching Lance how to walk, and living on the island. He describes the coffee shop — how he and Pidge worked together, how they hung out with Lance and Hunk, how they argued about whether aliens exist. How Allura and Coran visited as alien tourists. How Keith was apparently half Galra in this universe, and had no clue.

“That’s so fucking good! Holy shit!” Lance cackles, falling forward and clutching his belly. “Aw man, the multiverse is so _weird_!”

He tells him about Red and Blue — about the giant Earth city and its underground dealings. How Lance’s body had been held hostage to repay a debt. How he’d been a cargo pilot before getting stuck on Earth.

“Wait, wait, I was a _cargo pilot_ , and I was happy about it?”

“Yeah, up until you smuggled drugs and had to live as a robot for a few months.”

“Sounds like I was getting regular dickings, so it can’t have been that bad.”

“Wha —” Keith blushes furiously, scowling as Lance descends into wheezy laughs once again. “Oh my _god_.”

It’s really nice, telling him everything. They laugh and joke and Lance listens on intently, wanting to catch onto every word. It feels the most honest conversation they’ve ever had, now that neither of them are holding anything back. It’s fun up until it’s not, and Keith recounts the final scenes he saw — the ones right before he had to leave the Quantum Abyss. He tells Lance how it all went wrong, how they were separated in every reality for different but equally heartbreaking reasons. 

Lance is silent for a moment, chewing his lip in thought. “So what I’m hearing,” he starts, after a minute or two of thinking, “is that something always pulled me away? But we were probably gonna see each other again, you just didn’t see that part, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Keith furrows his brow. “It was kinda like when you came here, and I couldn’t reach you.”

Lance’s mouth twitches into a small smile. He leans back, placing his hands behind his head against the wall. “So, if I’m here right now, with you, maybe all the other versions of us are together, too?”

“Maybe,” Keith hums, breaking out into a small smile of his own. His eyes lock on Lance’s. “Probably. I hope.”

“And what do you think they’re doing, out there? Now that they’re together again?” A sly smirk creeps onto Lance’s face.

Keith’s expression flattens. “Definitely not fucking.”

“AW, COME ON!” Lance squawks, watching Keith descend into a giggle fit. He runs a hand down his face, suppressing chuckles of his own. “I was trying to be smooth!”

“You’re never smooth.”

“Hey,” Lance says, taking Keith’s hand in his. He squeezes a little for good measure, beaming at him. “It’s alright, we can wait if you want to. There’s no rush.” He thumbs over Keith’s knuckles, a faint blush dancing across his cheeks. 

“Lance,” Keith starts, putting bringing a hand to his cheek. “That’s really sweet of you. But I’m kinda done waiting.”

Lance breaks into a wide grin, mischief dancing behind his eyes. “Good. Me too.”

Making out until they get to the bed isn’t really an option. It’s not like they don’t try — but they’re in a really narrow tiny house and need to climb up a ladder to get to the actual bed. Keith’s kinda worried about whether the platform will hold, and Lance insists that given Marco’s size and aptitude with tools, they’re probably gonna be fine. 

“I’m flattered though. I’ll try my best to break the house if you want me to.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

-  
They make quick work of removing their clothes, and Lance kind of freezes with his hands on the waistband of his own boxers when Keith lies back on the mattress, stark naked and waiting. 

“You good?”

“I, uh — this might be a weird time to mention this, but I’ve never slept with a dude before?” Lance cringes slightly. “I mean, you probably know that already, but still —”

“It’s cool. We’ll figure it out.” Keith offers him a gentle smile. 

Lance lets out a shaky exhale. “Phew, okay, so, like, do you have a preference for pitching or catching? Or do you just wanna rub our dicks together? I’m fine with whatever, honestly, so just — you do you, or whatever —”

“Lance —” Keith sits up, bringing a hand to his cheek. He rubs his thumb along Lance’s jaw, trying to get a good look at his eyes. “You sure you’re okay? You seem like —”

“Like I’m kinda freaking out, yeah,” Lance huffs. He shuts his eyes and breathes in, and out, and in again. “It’s just — it’s a lot, you know?”

“Yeah,” Keith mumbles, thumbing at his altean marks. 

“Like, it’s already a big deal. Cause you’re _you_ , and we’re _us_ , yaknow?”

“Lance and Keith, neck and neck?”

Lance huffs out a chuckle, bringing his forehead to Keith’s. “Yeah, that. And the whole cosmic determinism thing, or whatever. It’s kind of a lot.” He lies down on the mattress, rolling onto his back and running his fingers down his face. 

“We can wait —”

“No, no,” Lance mumbles from under his hands. “I just — I’m scared of messing it up, okay?” His hands fall to his sides and he looks up at Keith, all choked vulnerability. “I’m scared im gonna fuck it up, and I really don’t want to.”

“No, no — you won’t, really.” Keith brings a hand to his face, pushing his hair out of the way. He leans in, delivering a soft kiss to Lance’s lips. “You’re perfect. You don’t need to be anything you’re not.”

Lance stares at him, eyes widening by the second. He’s kind of brimming with awe, and Keith’s definitely not used to being looked at like _that_ , like Lance can see into the depths of his soul, or whatever. It _is_ a lot. But that doesn’t mean it’s not wonderful.

“You’re so beautiful, Keith, anyone ever tell you that? And you’re an amazing person, and I just — _fuck_.”

He leans in, grabbing Keith’s neck at the nape and crashing their lips together. It’s like they finally stop holding back — rolling around and grinding and letting themselves get loud. It’s pretty nasty, but in a good way. Keith doesn’t really feel self-conscious at all. 

“Catching,” Keith whispers in Lance’s ear, before trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck. “It’ll be easier for your first time, but we can switch it up later if you want.”

“Yep, yep, very good with me, _nice_ —”

“You’re a talker,” Keith mutters against the column of his neck. 

“Oh trust me, I’m just getting started.”

Lance seems a little unsure at first — of where to put his hands and his mouth, but he finds his footing quickly and they try nearly everything Keith’s always silently, shamefully thought about doing to him. When Keith readies himself to descend, he hits his head on the ceiling of the tiny house, violently hissing as he tumbles forward onto Lance’s torso. 

“I fucking hate this shack,”

“There’s a guest bed in the main house we can defile later, if you want.”

It’s not the most romantic first time — it’s not the sexiest, or the smoothest, and Lance may have accidentally farted once or twice (Keith promises he won’t tell a soul, but it’s still hilarious). It’s kind of perfect, though, because it’s messy, and funny, and really fucking cute, and Keith can’t imagine having this with anyone else. He’d take clumsy sex with Lance over a steamy, passionnate romp any day. The thought of it electrifying all the same.  
-

When it’s over, they keep talking and they keep laughing. Keith feels more relieved and at peace than he’s ever felt. It might be the endorphins, sure, but it’s still kind of amazing. The thought of doing this as often as they can sets fire to his skin. 

They touch on what they’ll do, now that they’re together. And they decide that they don’t know — Keith will stay on the farm until they figure it out. Lance might join the Blade, or he might not. They might move to New Altea, or Daibazaal, or stay on Earth. It doesn’t really matter all that much, because they’ll be together no matter what. And if they need to part ways for a certain amount of time, they’ll find somewhere to come home to. 

They don’t go to the main house for dinner. There’s a bag of potato chips in the pantry and some leftover rice and beans in the fridge, and they figure that’s a fine enough trade off for not having to put clothes on and interact with other people. 

-

They have sex again before bed. Lance tries bottoming for probably seven seconds before he moves away and says it feels too much like taking a shit. Keith laughs for approximately two minutes straight after that, wheezing and coughing until his lungs burn. When he catches his breath, he tells Lance it gets better with practice. Lance points out they have all the time in the world, and nowhere to be for the foreseeable future.

-

Lance falls asleep first. He insisted on being the little spoon, because he’s never been one before. Keith is more than happy to oblige, burying his face in Lance’s hair and holding him tight around the middle. Lance snores sometimes, but he stops when Keith gives him a little shake. It’s shockingly cute. Keith feels incredibly lucky. 

He drifts off to sleep soon after, to only the sound of the wind rustling outside and Lance’s gentle exhales against his pillow.

* * *

**_1, 2, 3, 4_ **

Keith is first to wake up to the light pouring in from the window. He takes a moment to blink himself awake, a little startled at the sudden realization that there’s an actual _person_ next to him. He rolls over, carding a hand through Lance’s hair as he continues to snooze, blissfully unaware that Keith woke up next to him. He looks beautiful in the morning light. 

Keith has thought about waking up to another person countless times before — and yet, he never imagined it’d be quite like this. Something about how warm, and comfortable, and _real_ everything feels is enough for him to want to do it over and over, every morning of every day for the rest of his life. He knows that’s kind of unrealistic, and that he’ll probably have more mornings where they won’t be together for one reason or another, but Keith wants this to be what he comes back to every time. He wants to know that he’s got Lance to look forward to, wherever they might end up. 

Keith knows in his heart that Lance feels the same way. They’ve said it with their words and they’ve said it with their actions, and both are more than enough to convince him. Sometimes Lance might be the one who needs to go, and that’s okay. Because if Keith has learned anything from this entire ordeal, it’s that he doesn’t need to face the universe alone anymore. And that Lance comes back to him every chance he gets. 

He always has.

Always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're done! BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE! I'm adding an epilogue/bonus chapter right after this (next work in the series). It's kind of a standalone oneshot, but can also be considered an epilogue for PBP in a new AU. 
> 
> When I first started writing this story, I expected it to have a Teen rating, shorter ~5kish chapters, and fewer words than the 50k fic I wrote before this. I also didn't anticipate how fucking difficult HTML tags would be, nor did I realize that writing 4 complete timelines would take a lot of hard work and post-its. Turns out, things change, and that's ok. But I've been sitting on this exact ending since March and I'm so happy to finally share it. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please let me know in the comments! I'm beyond grateful for each and every read. It means the world, for real. 
> 
> I'm also writing another ongoing multi-chapter fic! Back to the Wall is a sports AU about rock climbing and chronic illness and pining. It's also one continuous, linear narrative (crazy, I know). Feel free to check it out if you feel like that could be your thing :)
> 
> Songs in this chapter are "Fire and Rain" by James Taylor, and "Graceland" by Paul Simon - two very beautiful dad songs that served as big inspo for writing this out.
> 
> Enjoy the epilogue!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much for reading!  
> Comments and kudos go directly toward brightening my day.
> 
> This is my baby [ tumblr ](https://sir--cumference.tumblr.com/) account where I sometimes post art. If you like this fic, consider [reblogging it!](https://sir--cumference.tumblr.com/post/186283185119/poor-boys-and-pilgrims-sircumference-voltron)


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